


Wasteland, Baby!

by Quyinn



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Blowjobs, Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Breathplay, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Ciri ships it, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Episode Fix-it, Episode Related, Fix-It, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Saves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hair Braiding, Hair-pulling, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Saves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Sings, Jealous Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Kind of songfic, M/M, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Praise Kink, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Scent Marking, Sharing Body Heat, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Title from a Hozier Song, Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Yennefer ships it, eskel and lambert ship it, geralt of rivia has nightmares, geralt teaches jaskier self defence, handjobs, he eventually admits, it goes as well as you'd expect, it's the witcher but more gay, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:27:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quyinn/pseuds/Quyinn
Summary: Jaskier was not his friend.Except in all the ways he was.or, the incredibly indulgent fix- it fic i wrote instead of sleeping :)
Relationships: Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 46
Kudos: 447





	Wasteland, Baby!

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first big work so thanks for giving it a shot!
> 
> tenses are hard n ive definitely messed up on them but pretend u dont notice pls thanks

_"You think you’re safe_

_Without a care_

_But here in Posada_

_You’d be wise to beware_

_The pike with a spike that lurks in your draws_

_Or the flying drake that will fill you with horror_

_Need old nan the hag to stir up a potion_

_So that your lady may get an abortion..._ ”

“Abort yourself!!” The soft strum of the lute is cut off sharply, as one of the gruff men hurled a hard roll at the bard.

“Oh, oi! Oi, fuck off.” He stumbled back in his step. “I'm so glad I can bring you all together like this.” Jaskier knew the controversy of that particular song in small towns, let alone taverns as wooden and as old as this one. 

Holding his arms over his face and slipping the lute from around his shoulders, he muttered a quiet “ _unbelievable_ ” as more rolls and even some small blocks of cheese were thrown at him. 

The tavern may not have been overly full, but the crowd _boo_ ’d him in waves to render them an ocean. Jaskier dropped to one knee, picking up the food as the patrons quickly forgot about him as they did the evening before. As he's filling his pockets, he glanced around the room. 

In a town like Posada, the people dress in thin brown tunics and dirty cream doublets and thicker cloaks in the winter. 

There was a man sat in the far corner of the tavern, clad in dark leather. Jaskier stood, carefully swiping a drink from the tray of the barmaid and crossed the room. As he got closer, he could see the face of the man better, white hair scraped back from his face, strong, sharp jaw. The man’s eyes opened just as he approached, the colour making Jaskier’s breath hitch. 

Beautiful molten gold, honeyed amber, precious metals he could wax poetic about for months. He lent against one of the wooden supports, his knees a slight weaker now having the man’s eyes lock with his. 

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“I'm here to drink alone. I don’t have time for larks.” The voice was rough and deep, making Jaskier blink and wet his lips.

“Good, yeah, good. But no one else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except…” He pushed off the beam and took a few careful steps to stand in front of the man’s table. The amber eyes blink slowly, owlishly at him, jaw clenching “For you. Come on. You don't want to keep a man with... bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me, three words or less.” 

Jaskier sat at the table, his fingertips tracing the edge of his cup. The man stared at him, Jaskier fought the urge to squirm as his gaze seemed to look beyond his skin.

“They don’t exist.”

Jaskier’s eyebrows furrowed a little, his lips pursing.

“What don't exist?” He fidgeted with his cup some more, sliding it between his hands but the man's eyes never left his.

“The creatures in your song,” The man spoke slowly, carefully, contrasting Jaskier’s quick rebuttal.

“And how would you know?” His eyes widened and a smile tugged at his lips. He almost smacked his palms on the table but instead pointed toward the man. “White hair...big, old loner, two very… very scary looking swords. I know who you are.” 

The man stood with a sigh, grabbing the black leather pouch on the table. He cast a shadow down onto Jaskier as he rounded the table, not giving the bard another glance. Jaskier couldn’t help but stare after him. 

The black armour wrapped his shoulders and chest like a shell, tapering at the waist. Jaskier let his eyes roll back into his head slightly as the tight breeches showcased every movement of muscle in the man’s thighs as he walked. 

The bard stood quickly, closing those few paces between them. He hung off another beam, calling after him.

“You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia.” He spoke the words into the back of his head. He noticed how the other patrons were staring after the man, so he added, “Called it.” 

Jaskier was familiar with the man that stood, Nettly, who was looking at the Witcher with hopeful wide eyes. 

“A job I’ve got for ya. I beg you.”

The Witcher was near the door but stopped, exhaling heavily. Nettly was at the back of him almost. “A devil- he’s been stealing all our grain.” Jaskier peered around the corner and could see the Witcher turn “In advance, I’ll pay you. 100 ducats.” 

Geralt sighed. His shoulders drew closer to his neck as he tensed, head tilting forward a little.

Jaskier could see him considering his options. Perhaps that’s all there is to a Witcher's way of life; The hunt for monsters and the coin as bounty.

“150.” The Witcher raised his head, Jaskier thought, as a simple challenge maybe, a tough barter. Nettly reached into his jacket, pulling out a coin purse, weighing it in his hand with a clink. 

“I’ve no doubt you’ll come through. You take no prisoners, so I hear.”

Jaskier steps out from behind the corner now, he could see the gold of Geralt's eyes over Nettly’s shoulder. They stared at each other for a long moment. Jaskier rolled the end of his teal doublet between his fingers, a nervous chuckle bubbling in his throat.

The Witcher slowly blinked, taking the coin and turning on his heel.

  
  


\-------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“Ah- Need a hand? I’ve got two.” The bard slowed into a walk as he caught up to the mare. “One for each of the, uh, devil’s horns.” He puffed, slightly out of breath, his lute case cradled against his back.

“Go away.”

“I won’t be but silent back-up.” Jaskier moves his hands as he spoke, hurrying to persuade the Witcher. With a hand on his hip, the other holding his lute close, Jaskier focused on the sharp lines of the Witcher's face. The Witcher held the reins of the mare at his side, not turning to look at the bard that followed close behind.

“Look, I heard your note, and yes you’re right. Maybe real adventures would make better stories. And you Sir, smell chock-full of them. Amongst other things. I mean, what is that? Is that onion? It doesn't matter. Whatever it is, you smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak.”

“It’s onion.”

“Right, yeah.” He caught his breath with renowned excitement, Jaskier spoke his thoughts. “Ooh, I could be your barker, spreading the tales of Geralt of Rivia, the- the Butcher of Blaviken.” The bard extends his arms, fingers splayed wide in his brainstorming. 

He smiled nervously when Geralt stops, glancing at the chestnut mare by his side. Jaskier watches his swap the reins to his other hand, the Witcher beckoning a finger towards him.

“Come here.” 

“Yeah?” He walked closer, watching Geralt's eyes stare harshly into his. He could see the Witcher's jaw work, sucking a breath in as Jaskier stood in front of him. 

He shouted as Geralt laid into his gut, fist forcing the air out from his lungs. His knees hit the dirt, groaning low, lute falling from his shoulder. Jaskier wheezed, trying to get his feet under him as bile rose in his throat. He definitely needed a minute to remember how to breath.

“Come on, Roach.” 

There was dust in Jaskier's eyes but he could see Geralt turn away from him and start walking, his boots heavy on the dirt track. He gasped out another few laboured breaths before being able to stand. 

There was dirt on his knees, dust on his lute case and gritty tears in his eyes but he pushed off his bent knees after the Witcher.

His stomach ached and his feet were beginning to trouble him, his shoes were in no way made for climbing mile long hills. As the bard hurried closer, he could hear Geralt make a low growl in his throat, a scowl playing across his lips. 

He threw his hands up in exasperation as Geralt swung himself up onto the mare. Jaskier kept pace just behind them, catching his breath and ridding his hands of dust.

He walked beside the slow trot Geralt had kept his horse in. Jaskier took the silence as an invitation to start talking. 

“Reading between the lines and the gut punches, chum, I'd say you have got a bit of an… image problem. Were I to join you on this… feat to defeat the Devil of Posada, I could relieve you of that title. All the north would be too busy singing the tales of...Geralt of Rivia, the- the White Wolf or- or something.” The Witcher met his eyes, and Jaskier couldn't recognise the look in them.

“Butcher is right.”

Jaskier frowned, looking up at him on the mare. Butcher wasn’t exactly a joyous name, one of a villain, a... A monster. Geralt had the steeled 'kill or be killed' look set in his eyes. His face was weathered but the stubble on his jaw was kept close to the skin. His hair, apart from dusty, was pure white. Monsters weren't pure. Shaking his head free of the thought, the bard went to reach for the mare’s saddle. 

“Mind if I hop up there with you? I’m not really wearing the right footwear-”

“Don't touch Roach.” The punch in the gut hadn’t been as abrupt as the Witcher's voice. 

“Yeah, right, yeah.” Jaskier murmured, his bottom lip forming almost a pout. He watched with uncertainty as Geralt slipped off the side of Roach with grace Jaskier imagined even dancers didn’t have. 

The Witcher's feet were heavy as he landed, patting the neck of the mare and securing her to a low swung tree. 

“The elves called this Dol Blathanna before bequeathing it to the humans and retreating into their gold palaces in the mountains. There I go again, just… delivering exposition.” Jaskier stared wistfully at the mountains bordering the lands. “Geralt?”

He watched the Witcher walk away. The man took long strides, head turning carefully as gentle winds rustled the grasses and trees. Jaskier thought, if he had wolf ears, they would be twitching. 

“Geralt? Where are you going? Geralt, don’t leave me!” Jaskier near whined as Geralt disappeared from his line of sight. “Hello? What are we looking for again?” The bard held his lute closer to his body as Geralt slowly edged through a gap in the pillars of rocks. 

“Blessed silence.” Grasshoppers chirped around them, Jaskier thought he heard almost a tired note in the Witcher's voice.

“Yeah, I don't really go in for that. Have you, uh, have you ever hunted a devil before?” The bard questioned, trying to read Geralt’s face. The Witcher didn't look at him, his golden eyes scanning over the tall grass, the trees. 

“Devils don’t exist.”

“Right.” Jaskier’s voice was soft, focused on the bob of Adam's apple in Geralt's throat. “Obviously. Then, uh… then what are we doing?” 

“Sometimes there’s monsters. Sometimes there's money. Rarely both. That’s the life” Geralt sighed out. “Shit!” 

Jaskier’s eyes widened as Geralt ducked down, something whizzing past them. He threw his arms out.

“Act Two begins! What was that?” 

The Witcher picked up the polished projectile. “Looks like a tiny cannonball from a… oh, my gosh.” Jaskier could see Geralt touch his forehead from the corner of his eye but he watched a creature rise from the bushes, horns curling from his head. “Geralt… It is a devil.” 

Geralt frowned at him, jaw clenched. 

“Ooh.. I have to see this magical, this mythi--” The bard was cut short as a ping stung his ears and sharp pain bloomed in his head. Darkness edged his vision as his knees gave out and his body crumpled. 

  
  


\---------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


The blood was loud in his head. Jaskier clenched his eyes tighter and rolled his head to try relieve the pain, if even a little. His hands were tied tight behind his back with coarse rope that itched his skin.

Stretching his fingers he could feel the cool leather of the Witcher’s gloves. Their forearms were pressed against each other, he couldn’t twist his wrists at all. 

Opening his eyes, the cave was brighter than he thought. They must be slightly below ground, sunlight streaming in from rough arches cut into the earth, high on the cave wall. Maybe it was more of a hole than a cave? 

“Geralt?” Jaskier spoke quietly, he lent his head back, tilting his chin so he could rest on the Witcher's shoulder. The armour was cool against his ear, Geralt's hair tickling his nose. It was surprisingly soft. “Geralt, you need to wake up.” 

He could just see the long lashes against Geralt's skin, eyes closed and lips unmoving. Listening carefully, Jaskier could just make out the soft, slow breaths of the Witcher. Turning his head to a more comfortable position for his neck, Jaskier sighed loudly.

He felt like he had sat there for hours before he finally heard a sharp intake of breath. Geralt's shoulders jerked, knocking the bard's head roughly. He let his head loll forward, feeling Geralt twist his arms and wrists with strength that Jaskier did not possess. He hissed as a jerk of Geralt's elbow twisted the rope tight on his wrists, burning the skin.

“This is the part where we escape.” 

“This is the part where they kill us.” Geralt grunted quickly, through gritted teeth. 

“Who’s they?” Jaskier tried to look at him properly when something kicked him hard in the head. Jaskier cried out, unexpectedly, as his head snapped to the side, his temple throbbing. He turned to look at the creature who struck him, as it shouted in a familiar language. 

“Elves.” Geralt growled behind him. Jaskier watched as a male elf took a hold of his lute, stripping it from its case. 

“Oi! That’s my lute, give it back.” The crunch of the bard’s heart echoed the crunch of the lute strings, snapping just out of sync. Desperately, he twisted his head to Geralt. “Quick, Geralt. Do your- your witchering--” 

“Shut up.” Geralt bit out, groaning. 

“ _No, you shut up!_ ” 

Jaskier rolled his eyes as he listened to the snarling elf.

“Ah, now my Elder speech is rough, I only got part of that.” 

“Humans, shut up.” The elf was dressed in a ragged green tunic, cinched by a brown cloth belt at her waist. Her ears curved what once could have been beautifully, but her face was stiff and her eyes were almost black with rage.

“ _Ah, got it, thanks so much_.” Jaskier let his tongue curl as the Elder words slipped off it. 

“Do you wanna die right now?” The elf challenged, looking down on him.

“As opposed to later?” Geralt said, his voice becoming harsher. 

“No, no please not the lute--” The elf kicked hard into his side. The male elf held Jaskier’s gaze as he bent and snapped the neck of the lute.

“Leave off! He’s just a bard.” Jaskier swallowed a sob, staring hard at the ground in front of him.

“You don’t deserve the air you breathe. Everything you touch you destroy.” Jaskier could hear the elf striking Geralt repeatedly, punctuating her sentences. The bard twisted his head to see the elf bring her knee to Geralt's face. 

“You hide in your golden palaces. You beat a bound man, too scared to even look him in the eye!” The words tear out of his throat. He can feel Geralt sag slightly against his back. 

“Do you like my palace? Hmm?” The elf crouched by Geralt, taking his chin in her hand. “Does it live up to the takes you humans tell?” 

Jaskier heard the thump of Geralt's head connecting with the elf’s nose. She staggered back, falling, blood spilling from her nose. Jaskier tipped his head back, laughing loud.

“Yeah, take that pointy.” The elf coughed on the ground, gasping for air. “Wait, what’s- what’s wrong with her?” 

“She’s sick.” 

“Oh, and who’s this?” Jaskier twisted his head as best he could to glance at the newcomer. This elf’s hair is braided away from his face, wearing a thick looking cloak around his shoulders. 

“He’s Filavandrel, King of the Elves.” The devil creature from before bounces in in hooved feet behind the king. 

“Not a king, not by choice.” Filavandrel took a bag from the creature, rummaging through it for a second.

“You were stealing for them.” 

The creature turned to Geralt, alarmed.

“I felt for them. They were forced out of Dol Blathanna.”

“Forced out? No they chose--” Jaskier started, confused.

“Do you know anyone that would choose to leave their homes? To starve? To have a Sylvan steal for them?” The king and the Sylvan were crouched low beside the elf, holding her steady. 

“Toruviel, no one was supposed to get hurt.”

“What’s two humans in the ground when countless elves have died?” She lent forward, spitting the words in the Sylvan's face. 

“One human.” Geralt growled. “And you can let him go.”

“Then Posada will learn that we’ve been stealing.” The king rose. “The humans will attack. Many will die...on both sides.”

“The lesser evil. No matter what you choose, you’ll come out bloody and hating yourself.trust me.” Geralt stared defiantly at the king. 

“That’s the problem. I can’t. This is necessary.” The king crouched on one knee in front of Geralt. Jaskier let his head fall back on Geralt's shoulder, the angle painful.

“I understand. As long as you understand… that it won’t be long before you follow me in death.”

“Yes, because they pushed us from viable soil. Even chaos is polluted. Synthetically enhanced so humans can make magic.”

“Chaos is the same as it’s always been. Humans just adapt better.”

“You say adapt, and I say destroy.”

“You are choosing to starve. You’re cutting off your ear to spite your face.” 

Jaskier stretched and twisted his hands till he caught Geralt's fingers in his own.

“You think this is about pride?” Filavandrel's voice shook with anger. 

“My elders worked with humans and they got robbed of all they had.and when they fought back, they were slaughtered. “The Great Cleansing”, humans called it. I called it digging a mass grave for everyone I loved. And now the humans proudly watch these very fields grow...our babies fertiliser for their grain. I don’t wish to bury anyone else. I was once Filavandrel of the Silver Towers. Now I'm Filavandrel of The Edge of the World. If I bring my people down from these mountains, it would mean bowing to human sovereignty. They’ll make slaves of us. Pariahs of half blood children.”

Jaskier tightened his grip on Geralt's fingers, squeezing them as tears filled his eyes, listening to the broken king.

“Then go somewhere else. Rebuild. Get strong again. Show the humans that you are more than what they fear you to be.”

“Like you, Witcher?”

“I have learned to live with them. So that I may live.” 

Toruviel got to her feet, still breathing strained.

“Please, my king. There are others. A new generation. Evellien who wish to fight. Let us take back what’s ours. Starting now.” Jaskier let a prayer to Melitele cross his lips as he heard a blade being drawn.

“Wait!”

“Torque, stand aside!” The elven king shook the Sylvan off, his eyes locked with the Witcher’s for a long minute, before Geralt lowered his gaze.

“The Witcher could’ve killed me. But he didn’t. He’s different. Like us.“ Filavandrel knocked Torque away. Geralt looked up at the king with a sigh.

“If you must kill me… I am ready. But the Sylvan's right. Don’t call me human.” Geralt held the king’s gaze as he got off one knee, going to stand at Geralt's side. Jaskier felt Geralt's head tip back, baring his throat as the king raised his blade. The bard clenched his eyes shut.

In the next breath, Jaskier felt the binds around his wrists fall away and he was hauled to his feet by the Witcher. 

Geralt had him by the upper arm, supporting most of the bard's weight, his knees still weak. Jaskier held Geralt's forearm, staring at the carcass of his lute, splintered and shattered across the ground. 

“Least we cross paths again, Witcher.” Filavandrel clasped Geralt's hand in a tight grip. The Witcher nodded solidly, releasing the king and took Torque's hand in his. 

“Here.” The red haired elf held a smooth, dark lute. It’s frets were made of shining, thin pieces of metal. Jaskier swayed in Geralt's grasp. 

“Oh, it's beautiful.” She smiled at him, shyly attaching a leather strap to the stock. “ _T_ _hank you so much._ ” He murmurs in Elder, enjoying the quirk of her lips.

“ _I was out of line, destroying someone's prized possession; despite horse shit being worth more._ ” She quips back, a sparkle Jaskier hadn’t seen before in her eyes. 

Geralt shouldered the case, his grip on the bard tightening as Jaskier and Toruviel laugh. She walked with them through some tall bushes, guiding them back to where they came. Jaskier could still see the scuff from where he hit the ground. 

“Thank you, Witcher.”

Geralt shook her hand. She stretched out for Jaskier to take her hand, but instead he threw his free arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a fleeting hug. She laughed again, her voice bubbling like wind chimes. 

“If only all humans were like you, Bard.” He laughed with her, falling back into Geralt when the ache in his side grew too great. 

“No one is like him. Thank the Gods.” Geralt ground out, holding Jaskier steady. The elf smiled once more, warmly, before turning back. The Witcher took his time walking back to Roach. His hand was tight on Jaskier's upper arm, bunching the sleeve. He gave Jaskier a final push forward, releasing him onto weak knees.

“You know, I studied almost 5 years at Oxenfurt university. I was a professor! And all that time we were puppets in a performance of lies. What other poor creatures' stories have been lost all due to the teller wanting pride- wanting heroics.” Geralt searched in the packs on the mare, retrieving a waterskin and a small square of cloth. 

“Come here.” 

“Ooh no, I fell for that last time. I’ll stay over here thank you--” Geralt let out a frustrated growl, grabbing hold of Jaskier’s arm and hauling closer him to the Witcher. 

“Oh, Gods you’re strong.” Jaskier muttered breathlessly, as Geralt tipped some water onto the cloth. Handing the waterskin to him, Geralt took hold of the bard's face. 

Jaskier could feel the slow breaths on his cheek. He watched Geralt look over his face and take the cloth across his brow. Jaskier sucked in a breath, one hand holding Geralt's wrist as the Witcher tipped his face by the chin. His fingers were none too gentle, holding him still, digging a little into his cheek. 

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier squinted up at him through a wince, a harsh swipe through the dried blood at his temple had water running down the side of his face. 

“Thanks, Geralt.” Jaskier smiled as much as he could with squished cheeks. The Witcher scrubbed at his skin until he made a satisfied ' _Hmm_ '. “Do you want me to..?” He took the cloth from Geralt and gestured to the cuts and dirt. Geralt exhaled heavily and jerked his head in a small nod. 

The bard smiled at him, pouring a little more water onto the cloth. “Okay, here we go.” He carefully cleaned the marks across Geralt's cheek, his forehead, the blood that had dripped from between his teeth to the hollow of his throat. 

“Well, I think that’s as much as we can do.” Jaskier told him softly after a long second, wiping the cloth up the column of his throat. He wrung the cloth out and slipped the waterskin and it back into one of Roach’s saddlebags. 

The Witcher unbound Roach from the branch, turning with her. He slipped the strap of the lute around the bard, wriggling his fingers underneath to test the tightness of the buckle. Geralt stared at the bard, watching his eyes darting anxiously.

“So back to the tavern? Will we get back before dark?”

Geralt swung himself slowly up onto Roach, his breeches taut across his thighs. Jaskier sucked his lip into his mouth, watching how a few strands of hair stuck to Geralt's jaw. 

“Hmm. Don’t fret, little Lark, you’ll be there before supper.” Jaskier gasped, mouth falling open as Geralt kicked his heels gently to start Roach moving. 

“Did the White Wolf just make an attempt at humour? Sweet Melitele holds me.” He broke off with a chuckle, skipping a few paces to fall in step with Roach. “Though credit where credit is due. That whole reverse psychology thing you did on them was brilliant, by the way. “Kill me, I’m ready.”“ He deepened his voice but could not cut the gruffness Geralt did. 

The Witcher stared down at him, brow furrowed. Jaskier wanted to squirm under that golden gaze. “That’s the conclusion? They just let us go, and you give all of Nettly's coin to the elves.”

“Filavandrel's lute not gift enough for you?”

“Yeah, she is a bit sexy, isn’t she? I do have respect for Filavandrel. He survived the great cleansing once. Who knows? Maybe he can do it again. Be reborn.

_Will the elf king heed what a Witcher entreats?_

_Is history a wheel doomed to repeat?_

No that’s... That’s shit.”

“This is where we part ways, Bard. For good.”

“Look, I promised to change the public’s tune about you. At least allow me to try.” He slides the lute to his front and strums his fingers across the smooth strings. 

_“When a humble bard_

_graced the ride along_

_With Geralt of Rivia_

_along came this... song_

_From when the White Wolf fought_

_A silver tongued devil_

_His army of elves_

_At his hooves did he travel_

_They came after me_

_With masterful deceit_

_Broke down my lute_

_And they kicked in my teeth_

_While the devils horns_

_Minced our tender meat_

_And so cried the Witcher_

_He can't be bleat--_ ”

“That’s not how it happened.” Geralt brought Roach to a halt, Jaskier turning to him with a frown. “Where’s your new found respect?”

“Respect doesn’t make history.” Jaskier turned on his heel, letting his fingers dance in the familiar rhythm.

_“Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O Valley of Plenty, o Valley of Plenty_

_oh-oh-oh”_

He could feel Geralt's eyes on his back as he walks. He continued singing, hearing the mare’s hooves start against the dusty ground.

Jaskier strummed idly along the strings, watching Geralt rub down Roach. He methodically took a soft brush down her flanks, across her back and neck. 

“The rooms here aren’t too steep, but I have a room paid for tonight? If... if you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Jaskier couldn’t see Geralt too well in the shadows of the stable, but felt his eyes on him. 

“Hmm.” 

Geralt pulled the bags off Roach, slinging them over his shoulder. They walked up the few steps to the tavern, Jaskier knocking his elbow into Geralt’s. 

The tavern was fuller than when they left, Jaskier sighing happily as the smell of warm food fills his nose. The crowd was thrumming, almost all the tables were full and the men at the bar were laughing. Jaskier spotted Nettly among them and grinned at him. 

The sea of patrons fell near silent when Geralt followed him in. Jaskier could see his jaw clench and he stalked to the bar. 

“Kidney stew. Ale.” Geralt glanced back to Jaskier, who was pulling a second chair to a far too small table. The bard leaned to whisper into the dark curls of a barmaid, who giggled in turn, smacking his arm in a way Geralt had to roll his eyes at. “Two of each.” He hands the barkeep his coin. The man smiled, his face is ruddy but kinder than most barmen Geralt has encountered. 

“Tough day?” Geralt watched him wipe out two cups, filling them to the brim with ale. 

“Hmm.” He took the cups and walked over to the bard. He placed the cups down. “Food will be here soon.” Jaskier beamed at him. 

“Why, thank you, Geralt. I've hot water for our room after we dine.” Geralt nodded, taking a mouthful of his ale. He watched the bard trail his nimble finger along the neck of the lute, catching his bright eyes as he bit his lip. Cracking into a smile, Jaskier strummed a gentle, familiar tune. He was quiet in his singing, Geralt groaning at the infernal song. 

_“Toss a coin to your Witcher…”_ The bowls were set down by the dark haired barmaid, Jaskier smiled sunnily. “Thank you, Taela.” The woman blushed at the curl of his pink lips. 

Geralt stopped staring, taking up a bowl. The broth was surprisingly thick, the potatoes soft as he ate. He hummed through a mouthful, savouring a meal that isn't dried rations. The bard ate quickly, taking his bowl back to the bar. As he passed, he squeezed Geralt's shoulder. 

“The Witcher’s bard returns!” 

Nettly raises his cup, clapping Jaskier's shoulder. Geralt closed his eyes, listening to Jaskier launch into a dramatic retelling of their earlier expedition. His shoulder felt warm, where the bard had laid his hand, thoughtlessly. Fearlessly. After a few minutes, letting Jaskier’s honeyed words wash over him, he looked to the bard. 

The blue in Jaskier's doublet seemed brighter up on a table. He watched as Jaskier carefully danced around the room. 

_“... he’s a friend of humanity so give him some rest_ ” 

Geralt could see how pure Jaskier meant his words, the wink he sent over the crowds had him sucking in a sharp breath. 

For the rest of the evening Nettly and his friends brought over cups of ale, thanking him profusely for his bravery. No matter how many times he shook his head, telling them that’s his job, Nettly's dark eyes shone with gratitude.

“Geralt- Geralt!” He stood, Jaskier hurrying over to him through the large crowd his songs had attracted. The bard grabbed his arm, ducking behind him.

“Those men interrupted my wonderful set, threatening to... What was it? Castrate me with a table knife?” The men in question, four of them, were a similar height to Geralt, faces twisted in a low brow rage. 

The broadest, oldest, pointed a blunt finger at Geralt. 

“Get the fuck out of our way, Witcher.” Geralt stepped forward, Jaskier's hands tight on his waist. He could hear Jaskier prattling in his ear about sleeping with their sister but “She had the most dexterous fingers.” 

“He’s just a bard. A stupid, idiotic bard, who will buy you gentlemen a drink to make up for his trouble.” Geralt twisted his wrist subtly against his side, forming _Axii._

The man took a step back, an almost drunken grin spreading over his face. He might have said more, but Geralt wasn’t listening to the inane dribble. Jaskier gasped against the side of his face, smelling of something sweet. With a groan, he headed towards the stairs, turning at the bottom of them. 

“Get off.'' Geralt stared hard at Jaskier, whose hands were still folded into his armour. 

“Right. Right, of course. Thank you.” Jaskier hummed. 

The barmaid, Taela walked with him up the stairs, gesturing to his room.

“Here we are. I’ll fetch you water for a bath.” She gave him a small smile. Geralt nodded his thanks, opening the door. 

The room was a little dark, a few candles were lit. The window had partially closed shutters, letting in a light draft. Geralt hummed, hearing the trill of a lute swim up through the floorboards. Taela came back, carrying a large bucket, the steam hiding her face a slight. Geralt held the second door open for her. Taela tipped the water into a large tub, making several trips to fill it half way. 

“Thank you.” Geralt laid his pack on the bed and began to sort through it. Taela smiled warmly at him, ducking her head and left. Jaskier's light steps travel through the hallway, he can hear him exchange pleasantries with Taela.

“Geralt? They can’t seem to get us an extra bed but I have asked for more blankets and pillows. I’m more than happy to have a night's rest on the floor after what you did for me today.” Jaskier's fingers played with his lute strap.

“Unless… you’d like another type of payment?” Jaskier quirked an eyebrow, biting his lip softly.

“Hmm.” Geralt nodded to the spilled contents of Jaskier’s bag. 

“Oh, bollocks!” Jaskier searched through his bag, biting his lip. “Those animals. Half my clothing is missing.” He whined. “I bet it was Tolkerion, that selfish bastard. In bed and in life.” He shook his head, forcing a shudder as he chuckled. “So… do Witcher's ever search the company of-” 

Geralt moved into his space, crowding him against the bed. The backs of Jaskier’s legs hit the bed, but Geralt grabbed him by the arm, his other hand coming to take hold of Jaskier’s jaw. 

“Why are you so interested? Are you another shameless whore who gets off on mutated monsters?” He let a growl creep into his voice. Jaskier smelt of lemongrass, sickly sweet arousal, and… no fear. 

Geralt slid his hand down to cup under his jaw, squeezing his throat carefully. He waited till Jaskier gasped, forget-me-not blue eyes half closed. 

“You’re just- really hot.” Jaskier smiled nervously. Geralt let his nose brush against the bards, pulling away with a smirk. 

“Get in there, you stink.” Geralt jerked his head towards the second room. He let go, taking half a step away. 

Jaskier smiled at him, brighter, and closed the door behind him. The Witcher could hear him hum, singing softly as the water splashes. 

_“Around your house, now white from frost_

_Sparkles ice on pond and marsh_

_Your longing eyes grieve what is lost_

_But naught can change this parting harsh…_ ”

Geralt took one of his clean black shirts from his pack, setting it down next to Jaskier's stuff. Who could the bard have lost? His family? Any women he tried to bed? Any man? 

The chill in the room had grown greater, as he tried to close the shutters. He groaned as they rattled but didn’t budge. The wood was thin, any more pressure they would surely buckle and snap. 

_“Spring will return, on the road the rain will fall_

_Hearts will be warmed by the heat of the.._ ” 

The door opened, unleashing strong scents of snowberries and lemongrass. Jaskier had a towel around his waist, water in his hair and running down his thin chest. “All yours, dear Wolf.” 

“Put something on before you freeze.” Geralt brushed passed him, closing the door. 

The sweet smell filled the room, Jaskier’s pouch was laying on a barrel beside the bath. Geralt could distinguish all the different perfumes and oils Jaskier had, the water had been scented with snowberry. 

He unbuckled his armour, letting the chest piece slide to the floor. He shucked off his undershirt, breeches and heavy boots. Stepping into the warm water, he let his eyes slip closed as Jaskier’s voice floated in. 

_“Warmed by the heat of the sun_

_It must be thus, for fire still smoulders in us all_

_An eternal fire, hope for each one_ ”

Geralt sunk beneath the water, the bard's voice sweeter now that he was by himself. 

He ducked his head under the water, letting the soap soak through his freed hair. He scrubbed the few days of sweat off his skin, streaking through the dirt and grime. 

He dried himself off when the water had cooled, dressing in clean underwear and softer linen trousers to sleep in. His hair was still wet but he scraped it back and tied it securely. 

Jaskier laid on his back, a pillow tucked under his head, blankets piled an inch above the wooden floor. He opened one eye as Geralt settled on the bed. The sheets were a little scratchy against his stomach. 

“I broke the shutters.” 

Geralt lent over, looking down at the bard. He smiled sheepishly. “Well, I was cold and- and they just sorta broke.” Indeed, one of the shutters was hanging off the window frame. The moonlight cast shafts of light into the room, across Jaskier’s face, dipping into the neck of his borrowed shirt. 

“Bard…” Geralt growled, throwing himself back onto the bed. 

“It was an accident!” Jaskier laughed.

“You’re an accident.” He muttered, mostly to himself, tucking an arm behind his head. He listened to the puff of a chuckle from the floor, a sigh and the click of Jaskier’s throat as he swallowed. 

He listened to Jaskier turn and fidget for maybe an hour, before his breath turned into shivers. Sighing, Geralt found the front of Jaskier’s shirt, tugging him up onto the bed. 

“Woah- careful.” 

“Shut up.” Jaskier laughed quietly, settling alongside Geralt. His arm was under the bard's head. “You make too much noise, anyone ever tell you?” His voice was low, a rumble in his chest. 

“Several people, several times a day.” Jaskier turned on his side, hissing out a breath. “My side aches still.” He says in a way of explanation. Geralt hums. 

He glances at the bard, bright blue eyes staring back at him. His knee was touching Geralt's thigh, his hand resting by his face, on Geralt's shoulder. “Though methods to silence me vary immensely.” He slipped his hand off Geralt's shoulder, dipping his fingertips across his ribs. 

“I have no time for your games, little Lark.” Geralt caught his hand, bringing it back to his shoulder. “Close your eyes and rest.” 

Jaskier pouted. He pressed his lips to Geralt’s knuckles. 

“I can’t persuade you?” He brought his leg up over one of Geralt’s thighs, hooking his ankle behind the Witcher's knee to pull himself closer to his side.

“Not tonight.” Jaskier nodded, smiling gently. 

“Of course. Sleep well, dear Wolf.” 

Jaskier squeezed his fingers, with a soft sigh, and let his eyes slip shut. Geralt watched him for a long moment. The long, dark lashes against his cheek, the pink bow of his lips as his mouth falls open, breaths evening out. 

It had been decades since he had another person this close to him outside of paid bedmates. He let his eyes close, Jaskier’s fingers slipping out of his. The bard softly snored.

  
  


\--------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


It had become a habit. 

Starting off in separate beds, Geralt finding Jaskier curled by his side by day break. He woke with the sun, laying for long moments. Feeling the tips of his fingers against his skin, the tickle of his hair rife with elderberry soap against his chin and throat. Feeling the solid line of warmth of Jaskier. 

Jaskier hadn’t tried to sleep with him since the first night, but that didn’t stop his forget-me-not blue eyes following the curve of his back whenever he stripped out of his shirt. 

There had been one slight hiccup though.

Jaskier had been talking for hours, Geralt was sure, on the trail to a town. Geralt had grumbled and bitched at him. 

The bard was relentless. 

Geralt growled, spinning around and stalking towards him. 

“Geralt- okay, I’ll stop- Geralt!” The Witcher crowded him, forcing him back until he was pressed between Roach and Geralt’s armoured chest. 

“Can you shut the fuck up...” He wrapped his gloved hand around Jaskier’s throat. “For five damn minutes?” Jaskier sucked in a breath, staring into Geralt's gold eyes. He wet his lips. His gaze dropped to Geralt’s mouth where it was curled into a snarl. 

“I- uh…” Geralt tipped the bard’s head to the side, biting into the soft skin. “Geralt.” Jaskier dragged out his name as the Witcher kissed down his neck, tongue pressing hard where he sucked. He dug his fingers into the soft skin harder, groaning softly as Jaskier keened.

He pressed his hips to the bards, feeling him gasp. 

“Can I…?” Geralt pulled at the front of the bard’s pants, feeling him nod his head rapidly.

“Oh gods, yes. Geralt, yes. Can I- let me touch you.” He pushed his hands up under Geralt's shirt. His fingers splayed over his abdomen, digging into the hard muscle, as Geralt pulled his cock free. 

Jaskier almost sobbed. He spat on the palm of his hand, sliding the wet leather against Jaskier's length.

His cock was beautifully curved, pink flushed head disappearing into Geralt's fist as he worked him.

“Wait- Geralt, wait.” Geralt sucked another bruise into his skin, slowing his hand. He slipped out of Geralt’s grip, falling to his knees. Geralt could hear the click of Jaskier’s throat as he swallowed, nose brushing the bulge in his breeches. 

He unbuckled his belt with a heavy clack, Jaskier’s fingers joining his to pull the material away from the sharp cut of his hip bones. Geralt’s cock hung low, jutting out at his face. It brushed against his cheek, precum smearing across his skin.

“Okay?” He settled a big, warm hand on the back of Jaskier’s head. 

Jaskier steadied himself with his hands on Geralt’s thighs, his mouth opening against the head. Geralt held his head still, and dragged his thumbs down into Jaskier’s hallowed cheeks. He let his eyes close as Geralt thrust into his mouth, deeper every few seconds. 

Geralt could hear him struggle to keep his breathing steady through his nose when Geralt held him in place, just over half his cock heavy on his tongue. 

He hummed, smelling salt in the air as tears formed in the corners of Jaskier's eyes. 

His hands flexed on Geralt's thighs, the bard attempting to swallow down more of his cock. He jerked his hips in short thrusts, feeling Jaskier struggle to keep down. Spit slipped from his lips, Jaskier pulled forward, chasing it down Geralt’s shaft. Jaskier gagged, his eyes watering, lips stretched. 

“Jask... Gods, I knew you’d look pretty like this.” Geralt smoothed his hands down Jaskier’s neck, groaning his name as he felt Jaskier choke against his hands. He pulled off, a trail of spit hanging between the flushed head and his tongue. 

“Please, darling.” Jaskier’s eyes were damp as he pressed a kiss to the head, swallowing his cock back down. Geralt groaned, twisting his fingers in the bard's hair. His hips bucked, Jaskier’s nose brushing his abdomen as he fucked his throat.

A tear slipped down his cheek, moans vibrating around Geralt’s cock. One of his hands dropped from Geralt’s thigh, wrapping around his neglected length. 

He came with a surprised grunt, Jaskier choking a little. His breathing was laboured as he pulled off Geralt’s softening cock. He licked at the head softly, gentle swipes of his tongue chasing away any left over drops of cum. 

His knees felt weak. He tucked himself away, one hand staying pressed against Jaskier’s cheek, thumb pushing into his mouth. 

Geralt crouched on one knee, biting Jaskier’s ear with sharp teeth. 

“You smell… “ Geralt growled, moving his hand to squeeze at the bard’s throat. “Gods, Jask. You smell sweet.” Jaskier whimpered against him, his teeth nipping at Jaskier’s jaw. 

He knocked Jaskier’s hand away, pumping his cock in a tight fist. Jaskier’s breath hit his cheek in puffs. High, desperate moans spilled over his lips as he came, hot stripes painting the ground. 

Jaskier’s head dropped to his shoulder, laughing breathlessly. 

“Ger- Geralt.” His voice was scratchy. Geralt wiped his hand off on the side of his breeches, adjusting Jaskier’s clothing. The bard looped his arms around Geralt’s neck, exhaling heavily.

Jaskier smelt of lemongrass and sweat, sweet and the bitter tang of cum. Geralt smoothed his hair down where it stuck up at the back. He let out a laugh at Jaskier’s bleary eyes, his damp cheeks. His legs shook, leaning heavier into the Witcher's space.

He could feel the heat in his own cheeks. Jaskier gave him a lopsided smile, reaching up to bush a strand of hair from Geralt’s sweaty forehead. 

They stayed, knelt in the dusty earth for a few long moments, sharing the same air. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


They had parted ways for a short while, the bard not willing to travel 2 weeks following a trail of scavenging Drowners. His bedroll had felt empty but he put that down to habit.

Jaskier crashed into his life again, quite literally, about a month after the Drowners. In a larger town there had been reports of small spined creatures desecrating graves. The innkeeper had shooed him out of the tavern, the crowd throwing insults about monsters and mutants. Geralt let the comments bounce off his back. 

A woman, maybe 30 or so, followed him from the tavern. She clutched a heavy bag, the clink of coin making Geralt turn. 

“Please… there’s monsters feasting on our dead. Our families… my mother. Her grave- I can’t get there to tend to it any longer.” She pulled a long, dark green spine from inside her tunic. “It shot this at me before I even entered the graveyard.”

“Hmm.” Geralt took the spine from her, turning it in his hands. “80.” She had tears in her eyes as she weighed out the coin. 

“Thank you, Witcher.” She all but whispered out, wiping at her ruddy face.

He found a small clearing near the cemetery to tether Roach. There was enough of a tree line to protect against any harsh rain fall, and a small clear stream ran through the roots of cypress trees. Patting along her back, he smoothed any tension from her. He gathered materials for a fire, piling them near Roach. 

Wasting time till dark, Geralt stalked through the thick brush, hunting down a few rabbits. He took them back to his makeshift camp as the sky lit up orange. Using one of his small silver daggers, he skinned and stripped the meat from its twiggy bones, throwing them into a water -filled lidded pot. He found some old root vegetables in his pack, sliding the dagger under potato skin and scraping them carefully. 

Darkness fell quickly, Geralt searched through his packs. He pulled out a few potions; a yellow vial of Cat, two blue bottles of Blizzard and a white vial of Petri's Philter. 

The creatures were more pests than monsters, with hedgehog-like faces, they snuffled into the Earth, tearing through bone like bread. The spines coated their bodies, a foot long and sharp, varying in murky browns and greens. When they lay still, they could easily be mistaken as clumps of grass. 

Geralt stretched his legs, swinging over the low wall at the back of the cemetery. He uncorked a potion of Cat, swallowing it in one. He took a deep breath, feeling the potion take hold. 

The shadows of the church became sharper, he began cutting through the Echinops. They screamed, teeth yellow and biting, their claws scraping along his calves, sharp enough to puncture holes in his breeches. 

There was a small clatter from inside the church, the gate creaking. Geralt brought his sword down in a wide arch through the last few creatures. He sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. He could see a humanoid figure part way out of the gate. 

It’s arms hung low, pointy fingers grazing the ground. As he got closer, knees bent in a slight crouch, he could see it’s pure white eyes and bloodstained mouth. 

Fishing around in his pocket, he uncorked the sky blue potion with his teeth, draining the vial. As he swallowed, the creature launched at him. 

His shoulder hit the floor as he rolled out of it’s reach. He swung up at the creature as he got his feet underneath him. The silver clunked into its side as he began to focus on its features. It’s jaw hung almost unhinged, ribs held in its body with barely there skin. He heard a cry from inside the church. 

The creature screamed alongside, flattening itself to the floor. Its limbs twisted to scuttle at Geralt, lips pulled taunt over 3 rows of teeth. Spittle and blood flew from its mouth, tongue tasting the air. He stabbed his sword down, through its neck with a sickening crack. 

He sighed, pulling his sword out, a boot anchored on it’s shoulder. Wiping the blade off on the grass, he watched for movement. His boots were heavy, flattening the grass as he reached the church entrance. 

The gate was rusty, leading down a slimy hallway. He could see smears of fresh blood on the floor. At the end of the corridor, the main room of the church was almost covered in slimy strings, forming cobwebs. 

Just inside the doorway, another ghoulish creature laid, on its front, splintered wood over its back, a gaping hole in its neck. He smelt the bodies before he spotted them, strung from the ceiling, at least 5 foot above the floor. Their rib cages were torn wide open, intestines dangling free. There was movement from the last body, swinging from one leg. 

“Fuckin- bloody fuck!” 

He recognised that voice. 

“Jaskier?” The body stilled. Stepping further into the room, Geralt could see him more clearly. His clothes were torn, hanging off his narrow frame. His legs were almost bare, large gashes running from ankle to thigh of his suspended leg. He could smell the tang of sweat and fear on the bard’s skin.

“Oh, Melitele’s tits, Geralt. You startled me.” His breath was laboured, his arms hanging uselessly. 

“I- why are you here?” Geralt scoured the room, spotting Jaskier’s bag slung across the floor. He looked up at the binds that held him. They were connected to a thick ceiling beam. “Hmm.”

“I stumbled in, mistaking the church for a brothel.” Jaskier waved his hands, knuckles brushing Geralt’s abdomen. “Shit! Didn’t know you moved.” The stench of fear had subsided. He had never smelt fear on the bard before. 

Furrowing his brow, he reached for Jaskier’s waist, pulling him. The bard flinched as Geralt took hold of him. He shushed him gently, testing the elasticity of the binds. The slime had a slight stretch, Geralt was able to reach it with the tip of his blade. 

“Hold on.” Jaskier’s hands felt for him again, arms wrapping around his chest as best he could, his face smushed into the leather. 

“Ew, is that blood? Oh my Gods, it’s on my face.” Jaskier whined.

Geralt shook his head slightly, grunting. The sword went through the slime with a little resistance. He held Jaskier up for a long moment, before slowly bringing him down, mindful of his leg. 

“Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.” Jaskier gasped as Geralt rested his sword against his leg, bringing his other arm to wrap around the bard. He had Jaskier in his arms, carefully moving him so his head rested on his shoulder. 

“Shush, you’re okay.” Geralt watched as tears leaked from his tightly scrunched eyes. “Jask, tell me you’re okay.” His voice was low, holding the bard close to his chest. He managed to get a grip on the hilt of his sword, not wanting to be caught short if there was anything else lurking around them. 

“I’m okay- I just… my lute?” Geralt could barely hear him speak, focused on listening to his heartbeat. It was strong, if a little fast, Geralt was sure he wasn’t losing a lot of blood. He dropped to one knee, cradling Jaskier in one strong arm, to throw his lute and satchel over his shoulder. 

“I’ve got it.” He grunted. Carrying Jaskier was no difficult task, he clung to Geralt's chest as well as he could. “Hey, it’s okay.” Jaskier shook against him, breath coming in short, shallow puffs. 

The cemetery was silent, sharp wind biting around them. 

He got them back to Roach, settling Jaskier against a tree. He set up a small fire, casting _Igni_ with a flick of his wrist. The flame caught on the dried brush quickly, Geralt hauled the cooking pot onto the stones. He untied his bedroll from Roach, laying it a little way from the fire.

Geralt picked Jaskier up, carrying him to the mat. He laid him carefully on his back, settling his head on one of Geralt’s packs. 

“Your eyes…” Jaskier had beads of sweat dripping down his temple, his pink lips turning up at the corner. His face was covered in grime, Geralt actually thought he may be cleaner than the bard. Jaskier’s hand reached for him, brushing over his cheekbone. Geralt clenched his jaw. “They’re so…” _Monstrous. Mutated._ “Deep.” Jaskier laughed, sounding a little mad at the end. 

Geralt checked him over, stripping him carefully of his torn clothes. The bard groaned as Geralt lifted his leg. Wetting a piece of cloth, he wiped away the dried blood. They were shallow scratches, Geralt sighed in relief. 

“No permanent damage.” Geralt murmured, taking the cloth over Jaskier’s face. His eyes were glossy, one hand loosely circled Geralt's wrist.

“They killed her, Geralt.” He stilled, dripping water down Jaskier’s throat. “They strung her up and slit her belly. She screamed- Gods, she screamed.” 

“They wouldn’t have got you. I got you.” Geralt told him sternly. 

“Ooh, they did though, didn't they? They did have me and they would have watched me die, slowly. Like they did to her. To all of them in there.” Jaskier laughed a humourless laugh. His face scrunched as he hiccuped. “Grabbed me off the side of the road. What were they?” 

They were Altawam, a twin Ghoul, bound as one being in two separate bodies. The damage done to one, happens to the other. Rare, Geralt sighed. He shucked out of his armour, wiping it clean. The wounds in his calf had stopped bleeding, but he scrubbed the cloth over them anyway. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Geralt took a bowl, filling it with the bubbling stew. He sat Jaskier up against his chest, tucking the blanket over him. He ate half of the bowl, waiting for it to cool, before offering the bard the spoon. 

“Hmm.” Jaskier’s hand shook. Geralt fed him the stew, wiping his thumb up his chin to chase a spill. Jaskier sighed, leaning heavily into the Witcher. Geralt ran his hand through Jaskier's dark hair. “Okay?” 

“Oh, no- No, not really, dear.” He let out a shaky breath, pulling one of Geralt’s arms over his chest. “Just don’t leave me tonight.” 

Geralt hummed, turning them carefully so Jaskier laid closer to the fire. 

“Sleep, Lark.” Geralt pulled him tighter to his chest, feeling him relax slowly. The wind whistled through the trees, pushing against Geralt’s back. He tucked the blanket around Jaskier more, pulling it to cover his face and shoulder. His arm cradled the bard's head, the other he hoped a comforting weight over his hip.

He listened to his breathing level out, his mouth partly open. The Witcher relished in the innocence in his arms. 

Okay, Jaskier had witnessed fresh, scarring horrors today, but who hadn’t in their lives? He rolled his eyes at himself. _Insensitive. More beast than man_. 

He ducked his head down, breathing in sweet lemongrass and sweat. Jaskier was warm and safe in his arms. How he would survive, when the bard didn’t need his protection, he didn’t know. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Nights like this, as he lays awake in the small cot, Triss grinding herbs and dressing his wounds, he finds himself colder than he used to be. He flexed his fingers, out of habit, searching for the body beside his. He didn’t find one.

“Your scars. You heal quite nicely. Your will to live is strong” She was softly spoken but her hands moved with power women dreamed about.

“The princess?” 

“I’ve arranged for her to stay a while with the sisters of Melitele.”

“But...I… her neck?” 

“She’ll heal too. You should know; Foltest issued a statement. The honourable Lord Ostrit gave his life to slay the vukodlak. Miners are gathering ore for a statue.” Geralt clenched his jaw, sitting up with a pained grunt.

“Anyone else would have killed the princess.” Triss continued. “You chose not to.”

“I’ll take my coin now. I need to get back to my horse.” He grits his teeth.

“Just your horse? You said some names in your sleep.” She turns a bag of coin over in her hands. Geralt pressed a hand to his side as he stood. 

“My coin.” 

“So that’s all life is to you? Monsters and money?”

“It’s all it needs to be.” Triss frowned, offering the bag to him. Geralt dropped it onto the cot. 

He searched for his armour, letting Triss’ delicate fingers lace the ties and thread the buckles. 

Where Jaskier filled the air around them with his quiet hums and feather touches along Geralt's shoulders, down his back and even across his jaw sometimes, the sorceress spoke.

“You say this is all life is to you, but there is a vortex of fate around us all, Geralt. Growing with each and every one of our choices… drawing our destinies in closer.”

The Witcher strapped his swords, across his back and on his hip. He checked the chest plate for his daggers, finding a small, crushed daisy alongside one of the blades. His chest tightened.

“I feel something out there waits for you. Something more.” 

“That’s.. Very kind of you, Triss. I must return.” Geralt started towards the door. 

“To your horse?” Triss called after him, a small smile playing on her face. She walked him out of her chambers, through the stone walls of the castle. 

“There is nothing more for me. There isn’t any need for there to be. People need protecting.” 

“And who protects you, Witcher? From devils and strigas and other big toothed monsters.” He huffs out a smile. 

“Thank you for everything, Triss. Keep safe.” He nodded at her, graciously. As he started down the winding road back to the tavern, the sorceress called out to him.

“You can’t run from your destiny, Geralt. If you do, someone will get hurt.” 

He doesn’t turn around.

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


It was dark by the time Geralt approached the tavern. Roach brayed at him from her stall. He smoothed a hand over her nose, pressing his forehead to hers. 

He heard a loud wave of hollering from the tavern, clapping and thumping in a now familiar rhythm. He patted Roach in time, murmuring the words. 

“ _The fishmongers daughter_

 _For it’s naught but bad luck.._ ” 

Roach almost scoffed, butting Geralt gently. “Hah, tell anyone and I’ll have the bard gutted. I know he sneaks you sweets.” The mare’s ear twitched. 

The noise died down a little when he entered the tavern, but did not fall silent as it used to. Jaskier stood in the centre of the room on a low stage. It put him almost a foot higher than the crowd. 

“The White Wolf returns!” Jaskier cries out, strumming a new tune. He winked knowingly at the Witcher, who rolled his eyes in response. He skirted through the crowds as the chorus began. 

_“Toss a coin…_ ” echoed up the twisting stairwell at his heels. He entered their room, narrow but a sight warmer than downstairs. There were two single beds, separated by a small set of two draws. He fiddled with the ties of his armour but couldn't get a good hold without pulling at the stitches in his shoulder. 

Sitting at the small table, he crossed his arms and closed his eyes. He couldn’t sleep in armour but a few hours of meditating would help him heal.

He heard Jaskier come in, smelling lemongrass, sweat and ale, clinging to the bard’s shirt. The door is closed with a snick, the lock falling into place. Jaskier’s hand patted his shoulder as he walked by. The rustle of clothes is followed by his humming. 

He couldn’t do the simplest tasks quietly. 

Jaskier drags the second chair over to Geralt, unfolding his arms. He slipped off Geralt's gloves, smoothing his fingers across the backs of Geralt's hands. His touch was impossibly soft, loosening the armour, unbuckling his boots and taking them off his feet.

_“Have you ever fought with a wild wolf_

_Scraped his claws against your skin_

_Have you ever ran with a wild wolf_

_Seen his eyes shine brighter than the moon_

_Have you ever danced with a wild wolf_

_Felt his pelt and the warmth within_

_Have you ever slept with a wild wolf_

_Laid alongside…_ ” 

Jaskier trailed off as Geralt's eyes opened. He swallowed loudly, his mouth open. “Uh- Hi.” Geralt watched him wet his lips. 

He stared at Jaskier’s hands, one resting on his bicep, the other holding his wrist. He let go quickly. “Ah. I thought you’d be more comfortable.” 

“Thank you.” Geralt tried to make his voice softer but from the way the bard looked away from him, he didn’t do a very good job. 

Jaskier had stripped out of his red doublet and was wearing a familiar dark shirt that hung off his shoulders as he walked across the room. The V neck fell deeper on his chest than it did on Geralt. 

“Jaskier?” He was laid out on the bed furthest from the door, lute laying on his chest. His fingers were plucking idly at the strings, his lips moving almost silently.

“Yes, dear Wolf?” 

“I… need a hand.” Jaskier swung his legs out of bed, smiling. 

“Of course.” With deft fingers, he unlaced Geralt's armour fully. He lifted his arm carefully. “Talk to me?” 

“About… armour?” Geralt frowned.

“Sure, dear. Whatever you want.” Jaskier laughed.

“Uh… that piece is called a pauldron.” Jaskier hummed encouragement as he slid the shoulder piece off. “That is a vambrace, the parts on my forearms are the lower cannon.” Jaskier unlaced them from his biceps, wriggling his arm out. “I made this chest piece at Kaer Morhen when I had stopped growing. My teacher had been impressed.”

“Kaer Morhen? The school of the Wolf?” Jaskier asked him quietly.

“Hmm. As old as the language of Elves, off the Gwenllech river. An inaccessible mountain stronghold. They trained the Witcher's on it’s lands. Some Witcher's chose to stay, to train the next generation, others set upon The Path.”

“Is that what you did? The Path?” They sat back at the table, Geralt's armour laid at the foot of his bed. It wasn’t often he indulged the bard’s curiosity. 

“Hmm. I had little choice. Those who considered us abominations, no better nor different from the monsters we hunt, formed armies and attacked the holds. They rendered it impossible for more Witcher's to be trained.”

“They killed the children?” Jaskier’s eyes had taken a watery shine. 

“You lose the innocence children possess when you undergo the trials. From my time there, maybe three out of ten boys survived the first trial.” Geralt swallowed hard, flexing his fingers. Thoughtlessly, Jaskier took them in his own. 

“You don’t have to retell it if it’s too much.” Geralt let out a quiet laugh.

“My lark denying himself a story?” 

Jaskier shook his head, running his thumb over Geralt's knuckles. 

“Do not upset yourself on my account.” 

“It’s alright. I haven’t thought about my brother for a long while.” Geralt smiles softly. “He endured the trials alongside me.”

“Tell me about him?”

“Hmm. His hair is a little blonder than mine, but he keeps it in the style we had growing up. Shaved underneath, with a sort of short beard. We helped raise the last lot of boys, only one of them stayed in touch. The two of them got along well, I imagine they’re still very close.”

Geralt sighed, remembering the grin that split his brother's face. _“Geralt! You’re looking as miserable as ever.” He had wrapped an arm around the Wolf, pressing a kiss to Roach’s forehead. “Going far?”_

_“I’m meeting the bard.” Geralt clapped his shoulder._

_“Lambert and I are itching to meet him! You’ll have to bring him home one day. Even Ves wants to see the man that can make the White Wolf smile.” Geralt had huffed out a laugh, squeezing his brother tight._

_“Maybe one day.”_

“When did you last see them?” 

“I passed Eskel on the road a few months ago, he seemed well. He certainly would have told me if he wasn’t. I think he’d like you.” Jaskier hummed. Geralt felt his eyes grow heavy, the laugh of his brother ring out in his mind.

“It’s late, my dear. Get some rest.” Jaskier stood, Geralt let him pull him along. His hands were soft on the Witcher's shoulders, pushing him to sit on the bed. He helped pull his shirt off, wincing sympathetically at the neat stitches in the meat of his shoulder. 

He touched gently at the bruising on his ribs, across his back. Geralt unlaced his trousers, shucking them off. Jaskier's cool hands guided him down, cradling his head. 

“I’m proud of you. You said actual sentences to me.” Jaskier’s voice was light, his hands smoothing over Geralt’s bare shoulders. He pulled the blanket up to his chest, smiling down at him. 

The Witcher’s eyes shine beautiful gold in the candle light. Jaskier feels his eyes on him as he climbs into his own bed. He settled with a sigh, smiling at Geralt. 

“Sleep well, dear Wolf.”

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


_His wrists were tied down, a thick strap over his chest, keeping him flush against the board. A scream tore through his throat, slipped out between his gritted teeth._

_“Common vetch seeds. To control your hunger for mortal food and desires. Hemlock. To numb your nerves and pain receptors. Saint John’s wort. To improve your eyesight and grant your darkvision. Horse chestnut. Raw, a toxin. To burn you of emotions. Arnica flower. To slow your heartbeat and blood flow.”_

_The voice echoed in his head, shouting over his cries. He was small, 15 summers at most. His dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and his cheeks were stained with tears. The voice circled where he lay, the glint of a silver amulet catching candlelight._

_“Please, it burns!” His voice cracked, raw and dry. The voice chuckled darkly._

_“The wolf does not pity the rabbit. The cub does not survive due to pity. It survives by being strong. Fast. Not a weak, reliant, pathetic dog.”_

  
  


“Geralt, wake up.” There were soft hands on his face, patting his cheek. “There you go, open your eyes for me, darling. Come on, now.” 

He looked around the room quickly. The door was closed, the candles burned down, casting a dim light. The shadows caught on Jaskier’s face, his blue eyes bright and concerned. He brushed back his hair, wetting his lip. “You’re okay.” 

“Jaskier.” 

“Yes, me.” Geralt reached up and took hold of the bard’s face in one big hand. He let out a shaky breath. “Come on, move over.” Jaskier slipped under the blanket, propping his head up with one arm so he could look down on the Witcher. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” His voice was barely a whisper. Jaskier shushed him gently, stroking his fingers up Geralt's chest. He rubbed along the silver chain of his medallion.

“I’m going to go back to sleep. You’re going to try to sleep as well, okay?” 

Geralt rolled his eyes, his lip twitching. Jaskier pulled one of Geralt's arms to lay under his shoulders, curling into Geralt’s side. He let his arm wrap around the bard’s back lacing his fingers together over his side. His eyes slipped shut, Jaskier’s face pressed into Geralt's shoulder. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“They’re shape shifting seals, usually feed on plankton and other small buggy things in rivers. A shame a village has fallen down its gullet.” 

Jaskier tightened the buckles on Geralt’s armour. He pulled out each dagger with a click, checking them over for any nicks or scratches. Fetching a dried purple thistle from his perfume bag, or ‘whore’s evening pouch’ if he asked the Witcher, he slid the last blade back, tucking the plant alongside it

“Well isn’t that beautifully poetic.” Geralt sat at a table, rubbing an oiled cloth over his silver sword. Jaskier hummed behind him, undoing his hair tie and running his fingers through the white strands. “Your hair is truly lovely, my dear. You have to let me braid it one of these days.”

“I certainly do not.” Geralt murmured. Jaskier laughed, smacking his shoulder. 

“Oh, but you will.” Geralt got to his feet, sliding his sword into the scabbard on his back. 

“You will stay here. Do not say or do anything to get yourself into trouble.” 

“Yes, yes.” Jaskier waved his hand. Geralt grabbed him by the collar of his doublet, fist stretching the blue material. He lent in close, breath hitting Jaskier's cheek. 

“You _will_ stay here. Selkimore are dangerous.” Jaskier smacked his arm. 

“Get off me, you brute. I’ll stay here.” Geralt released him, heading to the stairs. Jaskier followed him, humming softly to himself. 

There was a shorter, round-faced man sitting at the bar, who stood when he saw Geralt. Jaskier remembered him from last night, Nod, butcher by trade. 

“Witcher.” He said as greeting. He was wringing his hands, nervous. 

“Morning!” Jaskier chirped over his shoulder. “Won’t you indulge in breakfast, dear Wolf?” Geralt grunted. “Great!” Jaskier turned to the barkeep, a thinner man with a scar bridging his nose. He ordered some food, his voice bubbly. 

He shares his bread and cold meats with Geralt, each draining an ale. 

“140 ducats.” Nod offered. Geralt shook his head.

“For a Selkimore? 200.”

Nod conceded, finishing his own meal. 

“Be safe out there, won’t you?” Jaskier’s blue eyes were wide with trust. It made the Witcher’s stomach twist. 

“Stay safe in here.” He countered gruffly. He stood, stealing the last slither of meat from the bard’s plate. Jaskier watched him leave, smiling supportingly at Nod, who hesitated at the door. He gave the round man a thumbs up.

Jaskier wasted the afternoon away playing soft songs on his lute. He had his journal open in front of him, quill and inkwell beside it. He composed for a few hours, muttering to himself, only glancing up to order another ale. He startled at the small crowd that had gathered by his table, late teen lads watching him strum.

_“Gulls soar above her surf_

_The towns children splash and scream_

_While hunger forms foam at her mouth_

_As they dare stroll upon her beach_

_Her touch conveys an icy chill_

_Through her stinging, calloused spray_

_Her thunderous waves rush to the shore_

_And threaten where the village lays...”_

He pauses, scribbling the words down. “Hmm, no I don’t think that’s right.”

“Bard! Got an afternoon tune we can drink to?” One of the young lads asked him. He smiled, strumming an old, familiar tune. By late afternoon, he had the tavern chanting all the words to _Toss a Coin._

The tavern door opened, Jaskier jumping down from his small stage to grab Nod by the arm. 

“Hey, woah. What happened?” 

“I tell you no lie.” His words were rushed, hands stretching out. “It swallowed the whole village, it did. Not a bone to be found. Oh, don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call _him_ …” The others in the tavern gathered around as Jaskier took his seat. They murmured in disbelief. He dipped his quill in the ink. 

“Go on.” 

“The White Wolf! And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a selkiemore shot out! Oh, you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil’s teeth! And it… swallowed...that Witcher...whole!”

“Oh, this is brilliant!” Jaskier’s tongue poked out as he scribbled into his book. “Oh, sorry. It’s just Geralt’s usually so stingy with the details. Uh, and then what happened?” 

“He died.” The villagers gasped, hands covering their mouths. 

“Eh… he’s fine.” Jaskier scrunched his nose

“Look, I was there. I saw it with my own--”

The tavern doors swung open, cutting him off. 

“See?” Jaskier didn’t look up from his writing. The crowd around him gasped, covering their noses and mouths. Geralt walked with a squelch up to the bards table, glaring as Jaskier threw his head back chuckling. 

“What’s that stench?” The men around Jaskier groaned.

“Selkimore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I'm owed.”

“ _Toss a coin to your Witcher_

 _O valley of plenty, whoa_.”

Nod chucked the sack of coins to Geralt, an awed look on his face. 

Everyone seemed to join in with Jaskier’s singing. He couldn't help smile as Geralt glared down at him.

“ _Toss a coin to your Witcher_

 _A friend of humanity_ ” Jaskier chased after Geralt, who headed to the bar. He was handed a metal tankard of ale, and took a mouthful.

“You're welcome. And now, dear Wolf, it’s time to repay your debt.” 

Geralt spat out his mouthful of watery ale. “What debt? You're probably asking yourself in your head right now. Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve made you famous, Witcher. By rights, I should be claiming ten percent of all your coin, but instead, what I'm asking for is a teeny… teeny-weeny little favour.”

“Fuck off, bard.” 

“For one measly night of service, you will gain a cornucopia of earthly delights. The greatest masters of the culinary arts crafting morsels worthy of the gods. Maidens that would make the sun itself blush with a single comely smile...”

Geralt finished sorting through the coin pouch and turned on his heel, tired and aching, in no mood for his prattling bard. 

“...And rivers of the sweetest of drinks from the rarest of-- fuck!” He heard Jaskier shout behind him.

“Food, women and wine, Geralt!” He turned slowly on his heel, watching the bard splay his arms wide. “Come on, I’ll request bath water.”

The Witcher made his way back to their room, hearing Jaskier stumble up the steps. Geralt thought with the amount the bard drinks, he would have a better stomach for it. He went straight to the bathroom, stripping off his soaked clothing. 

“Geralt, you’re bleeding an awful lot- Come here.” Jaskier found a bottle of chamomile cream in his bag. “Look, you have bloody Selkimore teeth in your arse.” 

Geralt growled at him, but allowed him to carefully pull the teeth out of his lower back and ass, some even found their way in his thigh. Jaskier rubbed the cream into his sore muscles, bracing his hands on the edge of the bath.

“Okay, that should do you.” Jaskier patted his shoulder.

The bard and a blonde woman brought in bucket after bucket of steaming water. Geralt stepped into the water, Jaskier coming in, a final bucket balanced on his hip. 

Jaskier tipped the contents over Geralt's head, trying to drown out the stench, or the Witcher himself. He grunted in protest, scrubbing his hands over his eyes. 

“Now, now, stop your boarish grunts of protest. It is one night bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?” Jaskier searched flippantly through his small pouch of oils, fishing a small white tub out. 

“I’m not your friend.” Geralt was quiet, a small scowl on his face.

“Oh. Oh, really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?” 

Geralt rested his arms on the edge of the tub, glaring up at the bard. “Yeah, well, yeah, exactly. That’s what I thought.” 

He could feel Geralt's eyes on him as he paced the room. “Every lord, knight and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself will sing the praises of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!” He scattered sweet pink bath salts in dramatics. 

“How many of these lords want to kill you?”

“Hard to say. One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.” Geralt could smell the ale on the bard’s breath, see it in the way he flings his arms around looser, his long thin fingers flexing more smoothly. 

“Ooh, yeah, that face!” Jaskier seats himself on the low stool beside the bath, holding his fingers up in an ‘L’ to frame Geralt's frown. “Scary face! No lord in his right mind will come close if you're standing next to me with a puss like that.”

With a frustrated growl, Geralt reached for his tankard, only to have it swiped away. “Ooh, on second thoughts, might want to lay off the Cintran ale. A clear head would be best.” He patted Geralt's shoulder.

“I will not suffer tonight sober just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry.” He clenched his hands into fists, dropping his fingertips back into the water. “I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.”

“Yes, yes, yes. You never get involved. Except you actually do, all the time. Ugh. Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous?” Jaskier waved his hands. His tongue poked out of his mouth as he sighed.

“Come here, and I'll show you old.” Geralt growled out, eyes a golden challenge. 

Jaskier’s eyebrow quirks but he settles against one of the cabinets lining the walls. The pale blue of his doublet seemed to make his eyes look brighter, forget-me-not blue.

“Actually, I've always wanted to know, do Witcher’s ever retire?”

“Yeah. When they get slow and get killed.” 

“Come on. You must want something for yourself once all this… Monster hunting nonsense is over with.” 

“I want nothing.” Jaskier stopped in his pacing, running a fingertip over the pad of his thumb, examining a callous.

“Well, who knows? Maybe someone out there will want you.” He crouched at the end of the bath on bent knees. 

“I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me.” He caught Jaskier’s gaze, grinding his teeth. 

“And yet… here we are.” Jaskier couldn’t seem to look at Geralt for more than a few seconds before his gaze darted away. His arms hung over the tub, mirroring Geralt almost, his fingers on his open hand skimming the water. There was barely a metre between them, Geralt watched the curve of his lashes as the bard blinked.

“Hmm. “ Geralt glanced around him. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?” 

“Ah. Well, uh, they were sort of covered in selkimore guts, so I sent them away to be washed. Anyway, you’re not going tonight as a Witcher. Especially smelling like a rotten fish.” Jaskier's nose wrinkled. 

Geralt clenched his jaw, flicking some water at the bard. 

“Oi! I’m clean, I'll have you know. Unlike you- you who holds an odour so vile I can see the wood in the walls warping.” Jaskier held up a tub of white cream. “Allow me?” 

Geralt sighed heavily. Jaskier skipped in his step to move back to the stool, bringing it so he could sit behind Geralt. 

“Come on, Wolf.” Jaskier hummed, pulling out the hair tie and tugging Geralt's hair lightly. “Move your bloody head.” 

“Jaskier…” Geralt warned, tipping his head back. And then Jaskier’s fingers were rubbing sweet smelling cream into his hairline. His head rolled between the bard’s palms, fingers cleaning the shell of his ear, thumbs rubbing circles behind. 

“You know, I spent a few years after Oxenfurt at the temple of Melitele. They taught me so many beautiful things a person can do with his fingers. Won’t you let me show you?” 

“Jaskier.” The Witcher was firmer, shaking his head in the bard's grip. 

“Oh, for the sake of the Gods, Geralt.” Jaskier twisted his fingers in the white strands, holding him tightly in place. “Get a grip and close your damn eyes.” 

Geralt growled low in his throat, flicking more water at the bard.

He slowly untangled his fingers, combing through his hair. He rubbed the pads of his fingers across his forehead, dislodging the dried bloods. He pushed on Geralt's shoulders till he sank lower in the water. Jaskier hummed, barely getting out four bars before Geralt's eyes opened.

“I am tired and aching, and I do not have time for your warbling, Lark.” His golden eyes stared hard at the bard. 

“Alright then.” Jaskier sighed, his lips pulling into a sad pout as the Witcher closed his eyes. He started a low hum, pulling a face when Geralt stared at him again. “Oh, sweet Melitele, can’t I make any noise?” 

“No.” Geralt snarled through grit teeth. “Shut your fucking mouth for once.” He sniffed, the sharp tang of salt, cutting through the sweet lemongrass in the air, as the upset rolled off the bard in waves. 

“You need a nap, dear Witcher. Wash your own damn hair.” Jaskier sat back, his arms folded over his chest. Geralt groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

“I didn’t mean- Jaskier.” He twisted to look the bard in the face, but was unable to meet his gaze. “I should not have said that to you. I didn’t intend to upset you.” Jaskier's mouth fell open. 

“Upset me? Didn’t intend- Geralt, what the fuck?” Jaskier smacked his palm into the side of Geralt's head with a tired smirk. “Next time you think you can speak to your best and only friend in the world like that, I might not be so gracious.” 

His fingers returned into Geralt's hair, nails scraping across his scalp. For some long moments he held himself ridged, before slowly letting himself relax into Jaskier’s hands. 

A low moan crept up his throat when Jaskier caught a knot and tugged a little. He could hear the bard chuckle, but he kept combing the oils through his hair. 

His hands were cool on Geralt’s skin, they worked in slow circles down his neck and across his shoulders, rubbing his skin full of sweet smelling oils. 

“I made this one earlier in the week,” Jaskier starts conversationally. “I’m calling it Heroic and Heartbreak.” Geralt could smell bearberry and basil. 

“It has herbs for protection, cleansing, sage for relaxation. Dill for luck.” Jaskier let his voice slip into a quieter, softer tone. “And peppermint for love and energy.”

“It’s nice.” 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“Right, so stick close to me, look mean and pretend you’re a mute. Can’t have anyone finding out who you are.” Jaskier held his lute strap tightly, his eyes glancing nervously around the hall. Geralt found himself wondering if he had ever played in a hall so big and regal. 

“Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher!” A tankard was raised by a familiar hand. 

“Oh shit.” Jaskier took a half step back towards Geralt but held himself still as the man advanced.

“I haven’t seen you since the plague.” His voice was cheery, a grin splitting his face.

“Good times, Mousesack.” He nodded his head at the druid, seeing Jaskier squirm uncomfortable beside him.

“I’ve missed your sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair, but now the White Wolf is here, perhaps all is not lost. Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?” 

Geralt turned his head, glaring accusingly at the bard. He recalled their earlier argument when Jaskier tried to stuff him in an even more appalling ruffled tunic. _“But, dear Wolf, this one will bring out your eyes beautifully--” He had gripped him by the wrists and growled low about gutting him where he stood._

_“Nobody wants to see my eyes and be reminded they’re trapped in a room with a monster!” Jaskier had shut his jaw with a clack of his teeth._

“What?” Jaskier was fidgeting under Geralt’s hard gaze. Mousesack laid a hand on the Witcher’s shoulder.

“Walk with me.” They didn’t walk very far when a tankard was raised.

“To Mousesack!” The nobles echoed in a triumphant roar. Mousesack cackled along, drinking with gusto. 

“I’ve been advising the Skelligen crown for years. A tad rough around the edges, but they’re of the Earth. Like me.”

“Old and crusty.” Mousesack choked as he drank another mouthful. “How long before this horse trading is done? I find royalty best taken in… small doses.” Geralt looked around him, a sneer curling his lip as one baron fell over his own feet in drunken stupor. 

“I wouldn’t count on leaving before dawn. These suitors will vie all night for Princess Pavetta’s hand. Marrying into this monarchy is a mighty prize.” 

Geralt could see the Princess, her face a pink blush and eyes tearfilled. “Who wouldn’t want to be king of the most powerful force in the land?” Mousesack smacked his chest with a grin.

“Hmm.” They walked a further few paces, elbows bumping companionably. “So, which one of these little shits is your coin on?” Geralt found himself his own mug of ale, there seemed to be plentiful drink around. 

“Come with me, there’s much for you to see.” Mousesack led him to a nice, quiet corner, standing close to him. “It’s not a fair bet. Ask anyone. That red-headed scanderlout over there, Crach an Craite, will marry Pavetta. The Lioness has already arranged it with the boy’s uncle, Eist Tuirseach. No one would dare make a move on an alliance that powerful.”

“Handy with a blade.” Geralt watched, unimpressed as the man flipped a dagger round. It was a small 4 inch blade at most, only good for show. He could hardly hold back a sneer. “Handy with women too.” The women in question were brushing his arm, laughing behind their hands. 

Geralt was annoyed at his thoughts coming back to Jaskier, recalling how he flirted with men and ladies on many nights, turning them pliant in his nimble hands with barely a sentence. 

“All an act. Queen Calanthe refused his proposal three times after King Roegner died, despite the two of them gliding around each other like courting swans.”

He could see Jaskier across the great hall, picking at his nails how he does when he’s nervous. A smaller, round man dressed in a dark blue cloak was stepping up to him. 

“No, no, no. She was not for living in her husband’s shadow again.” Geralt was half listening to his old friend’s gossip. 

It wasn’t until the man took Jaskier by the arm that he grunted, heading over. 

“I forgot you had yourself a bard.” Mousesack laughed, eyes following Geralt curiously. 

“Something about you reminds me of a scoundrel I once saw fleeing my wife’s chambers!” 

Geralt watched the man back Jaskier into the wall. Jaskier’s mouth worked for words.

“Um, well…” 

“Drop your trousers.”

“What?” His bright eyes widened in alarm.

“I didn’t get a proper look at the little shit’s face, but that pimply arse I’d remember anywhere.”

“Well... uh, uh… Ah, Geralt!” Jaskier chuckled nervously, almost reaching for the Witcher. 

“Forgive me, my Lord.” He rested his hand on the man’s shoulder. “This… happens all the time. It’s true, he has the face of a cad and a coward.” Geralt stared hard at him, gold eyes pinning him in place. “But truth be known, he was kicked in the balls by an ox as a child.” 

Jaskier’s mouth formed a small ‘o’, and his brow creased in a worried line. 

“Well, that’s…” The lord looked up at him, “...tr- true” 

“Apologies.” He whispered out to Geralt. “Here, drown your… sorrows on me, eunuch.” He flipped a shining gold piece at Jaskier, before bowing his head and leaving them be. Geralt waited until he had gone far enough that they would not be heard before looking at Jaskier. 

“Oh, wow. Thank you. Thank you so much.” Geralt couldn’t help smirk at the bard. He was gesturing animatedly, cheeks pink. “First of all, you hog all the fanfare, then you go and ruin my courtly reputation.” His hands were on his hips, chin jutted out.

“I saved your life. You’re on your own from here on. Try not to get any daggers in your back before dawn.” The fanfare blew as Jaskier grabbed his sleeve. 

“Come on, Geralt. Please, have a little pity.” Geralt raised an eyebrow, bringing his tankard to his lips. He could see Jaskier’s bright eyes follow the action, noticing how he swallowed when Geralt wet his lips. 

“All rise for Her Majesty, the Lioness, Queen Calanthe of Cintra!” The Herald announced to the now silent hall. 

The Queen wore beautifully kept golden armour, her hair pinned in braids. There was blood and grime on her face, Geralt guessed from where she had her helmet knocked off. She grabbed a tankard as she walked, tossing her helmet to one of her knights.

“Beer!” She yelled, meeting the cheer of the crowd. A man dressed in a similar embroidered doublet waved a hand at Jaskier from a table. The bard let go of Geralt, smiling warmly at him before rushing to the other. 

“Apologies, noble sirs. A few upstart townships in the south needed reminding who was Queen.” There was cheering and laughter from the drunk lords. “I find it’s good for one’s blood and humours. Ready your suitors’s tales of glory, good Lords. My daughter is eager to have things over with. As am I. Bards, music!” 

Geralt watched as Jaskier took to the sage with 4 other bards, clutching instruments. They were dressed in embroidered tunics, none as neatly sewn and golden as Jaskier’s. The two with flutes played a note, before Jaskier even got a word out the Queen turned.

“No, no, no! A jig! You can save that bloody maudlin nonsense for my funeral.” 

Geralt could see Jaskier mouth a _“two, three, four_ ” before he led in a lively tune. Geralt indulged in the chance to enjoy expensive ale. 

He lent against a smooth, cold pillar, watching Jaskier’s fingers dance along the lute. He shut his eyes for a long moment, letting the bard’s sweet words roll over him. 

There was a loud thump on the table that rattled the plates. Geralt opened his eyes, watching Crach an Craite square his feet against another noble. 

“You lie, you little shite! You’ve never faced so much as a bad meal in your life, never mind a manticore.”

“I’ve had manticore thrice as fat and ugly as you perish under my steel!”

“Under your bullshit, more like. How many stings has it got then?”

“Two.” Geralt rolled his eyes, sighing deeply.

“Hah! Go away and shite. It’s five. I know.” Geralt could hear his name being whispered into the ear of the Queen. “I’ve actually killed one.”

“Why, you--” The lord lunged at Craite, fists in his bronze tunic. The nobles around them yelled out, jumping in the fray. 

“Enough! “ Queen Calanthe stepped down from her raised table. “We have a renowned guest here tonight.” Heads turned, people sat back in their seats. He glared at Jaskier, who was smirking, looking at his feet. “Perhaps he can declare which esteemed Lord is telling the truth.”

“Neither.” Geralt’s voice was gravelly. He swirled his ale absentmindedly.

“Are you calling me a liar, old man?” Craite challenged.

“Aah--” The second Lord chimed in. “The Butcher of Blaviken bleats utter nonsense.” A few laughs echoed around the room. 

Geralt glanced at Jaskier again, feeling his lungs tighten in the same way they did when anyone said that name. The bard shook his head a slight, wetting his lips. He clenched his jaw, Jaskier understood him well by now. 

“Perhaps the lords encountered… rare subspecies of manticore.” His lip quirked. The nobles murmured in agreement. He could see Jaskier exhale. 

The Queen broke out in laughter.

“Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us with how he slayed the elves at the Edge of the World?” She was met by hollering and cheering. 

“There was no slaying.” Geralt couldn’t help but smirk. “I had my arse kicked by a ragged band of elves.” The crowd groaned. “I was about to have my throat cut when Filavandrel let me go.” The lords jeered at him, throwing their tankards down.

“But the song!” 

“Respect doesn’t make history.” He exchanged a look with Jaskier. 

“At least when Filavandrel's blade kissed my throat, I didn’t shit myself. Which is all I can hope for you, good Lords.” He raised his tankard, smiling, his eyes narrow and cat-like. “At your final breath, a shitless death.” Bringing his tankard to his mouth, he continued, “But I doubt it.” 

Amongst the laughing, one lord lent forward in his chair.

“It would have been your blade at Filavandrel’s throat had you been there, Your Majesty. Not that any elven bastard would crawl from their lair to meet you on the field.”

He met Queen Calanthe’s eyes over the cheering crowd.

“Any man willing to paint himself in the shadows of his failures will make far more interesting conversation this night.” He glanced at Jaskier, his gaze hardening as the bard waved at hand at him, mouthing _“shoo_.” 

“Come, Witcher. Take a seat by my side while I change.” Geralt glared hard at the bard, making him flush pink as a few lords followed his gaze. 

“Hmm.” He bent his head in a bow, pushing off the wall. Queen Calanthe led him through a side door and down a length of corridor. Double wooden doors led to a nice room, furniture trimmed with gold. 

He could imagine Jaskier leaning into the three doored mirror, putting on some of that black to ring his eyes, pink on his lips because _“I don’t think you’d understand, but I’m an incredibly desired man, dear Wolf.” He had laughed, caught Jaskier's thin wrist in his hand._

_“What? I’ve seen hens legs rival yours.” The bard had smacked his chest, a chuckle bubbling over his lips._

There was nothing bubbly about the Lioness of Cintra. Her features were sharp, body cutting steep angles as Geralt helped remove her armour. She also removed her underclothes, standing a moment too long in front of him, bare from the waist up. 

“Witcher, help me into this.” He stood slightly behind her as she took his hands in hers, bringing his arms around her. She moved his hands slowly up her sides, humming at the cool leather on her skin. 

Geralt met her eyes in the mirror. Queen Calanthe tilted her head to the side, Geralt tipping his head in suit. She smelt of sweat and lust.

“Raise your arms.” As an afterthought, he added, “Your Majesty.”

He slipped her soft undershirt down her arms, pulling it over her stomach. Her corset followed, tight and rigid. Then came her skirts, layered and ruffled, in deep blues and purples, looking almost black in the dim light. 

Geralt tightened the strings of her corset, wiping her face clean gently but efficiently. He could hear the hum of one of Jaskier’s popular ballads, the clap of the lords echoing through. 

The Queen carefully painted her eyes and cheeks, brushing her hair out, twisting and securing it to the back of her head. She placed her crown on gently, the jewels glinting.

Geralt escorted her to the throne by the hand, holding open the doors. Jaskier didn’t meet his eye as he glanced at him up on the small stage. Geralt held one arm behind his back, the other raised, Queen Calanthe’s hand resting atop his. 

“Damn this cursed thing. I’d sooner see this night out in armour.” She held her stomach, twisting in her throne.

“As would I.” 

“Indeed. Tell me, how does a Witcher find himself at my daughter’s engagement feast dressed like a…” She trailed off with a laugh.

“I’m protecting the bard from vengeful royal cuckolds.” Geralt watched the bard in question stand between two finely dressed women, pouring each of them a fresh drink.

“Idiots, the lot of them. Still, I’m glad of your company, which could prove handy. I have no doubt blood will be spilled here tonight.”

“Ah, save the good Queen’s breath. I’m not for hire as a bodyguard.” She smiled, sipping her wine.

“You were hired just so by the bard.”He looked to her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“I’m helping the idiot free of his coin.” Geralt let his eyes wander back to the bard, seeing him arch his back in a laugh. 

“And he’s the idiot?” The Queen scoffs. “I’m simply saying, surely if all goes to hell here tonight, I can count on you to strategically remove certain irritants that may present themselves? I’d do so myself, only I’m bound to uphold an artifice of decorum and… fairness.”

“Hey. I can’t help you.” The Queen held his gaze.

“So perilously direct. As Queen, I could command it.”

“If I were one of your subjects.” He could hear her heartbeat, smell the excitement coming off her. 

“I could torture you so very slowly into compliance.” Geralt couldn’t fight the smirk that crept on his face, her voice a breathless whisper.

“Her Majesty will do as she wishes. I’m not for turning.”

“Oh, come now. Everyone has their price.” Queen Calanthe sighed heavily when the fanfair played once again and the Lords lined up.

Geralt watched them approach, half listening.

“Lord Peregrine of Nilfgaard.”

A burst of the bagpipes had Jaskier’s hand over his mouth. Geralt almost smiled with him. 

“Make another sound, Draig Bon-Dhu, and I’ll have your guts sewn into pipes and sent to your mother.” Geralt did let out a snicker at that. 

“Queen Calanthe,” Lord Peregrine started, “My marriage to your daughter will unite the jewels of the north and south, forging an unbreakable alliance that none would dare cross. And...I am one of five brothers with no sisters. My potent seed inside Pavetta will provide the strongest of male heirs.”

The Queen swallowed, her daughter glancing at her, alarmed. 

“Cintra is indeed the jewel of the north, yet Nilfgaard remains the same shit rag of the south, and that’s saying something!” The crowd laughs and jeers alongside their queen. “Tell me, is it true you drink piss water and feast on your own young? Nilfgaardian kings don’t remain kings for long. Who will take the Usurper’s crown? You? How long will you last? A year? A month? A day?” 

Lord Peregrine's mouth curled in anger. He turned on his heel, storming back to his table. Queen Calanthe glanced apologetically to her daughter.

Unlike the Nilfgaards, the next noble strode out on his own. His cream tunic was adorned with medals, a rich blue sash over his right shoulder. 

“Lord Steergart of Kaedwen.” 

Geralt lost interest in the men coming forwards, spouting about their prospects. He felt his eyes glaze over, as five more lords presented themselves before the Queen. He almost thanked the Gods out loud when Queen Calanthe declared it time for a dance. 

Jaskier stepped out of his line of bards, strumming his lute. His pink mouth was stretched in a smile. 

“ _O_ _h, fishmonger. Oh, fishmonger,_

_Come quell your daughter's hunger._

_To pull on my horn…”_

The room seemed to clap in time, Jaskier winking at Geralt across the room. 

_“As it rises in the morn_

_For ‘tis naught but bad luck_

_To fuck with a puck_

_Least your grandkids be born_

_A hairy young faun_

_Bleating and braying all day, hey ho!_

_The fishmongers daughter, ba, ba_ ” 

Geralt found his knee bouncing, watching Jaskier weave and spin through the crowd, throwing twinkling bats of his lashes at Geralt whenever he reached a particularly dirty line. 

“How much more of this peacocking must I endure? This… all this because male tradition demands it. If I were a man, I could simply tell the whole lot of them to fuck off, declare outright who Pavetta should marry and have it done with it.” The Queen scoffed, resting her head on her hand. “Or, better yet, let the poor girl decide her own fate.”

“Something tells me this isn’t the first time you’ve navigated the vagaries of male tradition. In fact, I’d wager you thrive on it.”

“Spoken as one who has navigated his own share of fools.”

“Hmm.” 

“Tell me, Witcher, why are there so few of you left?” 

“Hmm.” He sighed, the song coming to an end. “Hm, it is no longer possible to create more of us, since the sacking of Kaer Morhen. Tell me, your Majesty… why do you risk your life on the battlefield when you can rest on your throne?” He could see Pavetta turn her head, looking up at her mother. 

“Because there is a simplicity in killing monsters, is there not?” She whispered to him, like a private thought. “Seems we are quite the pair, Geralt of Rivia. “

“Hmm.”

There was a loud clatter as the doors several knights tumbled through, one wearing silver armour, chainmail covering his arms and legs.

“Forgive my late intrusion, Your Majesty, and for the misunderstandings with your guards. Please! I come in peace.” The man held his hand up as some of Cintra’s guards went to draw their weapons. “I need but one moment of your time.” The chainmail creaked as he dropped to his knee. “I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald, and I have come to claim your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

“A knight… of no renown… from a backwater hamlet… who dares to enter my court without revealing his face?” Geralt turned to the Queen, seeing Pavetta at her side with a hopeful shine in her eyes.

“I apologise,Your Majesty. A knight's oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell.”

“Bollocks to that.” One of the Lords by Craite’s table strode forward and yanked off Lord Erlenwads’s helmet. The man yelped, protesting as his helmet clattered to the floor.

Geralt lent forward in his seat. The Lord had dark fur covering his skin, spines instead of hair. His nose was scrunched and small.

“Witcher… kill it.”

“No” 

“Whatever the price.”

“This is no monster. 

“I order you.” 

“This knight has been cursed.”

“You’re as useless as the rest of them.” Her eyes were watering. “Slay this beast!” 

Geralt’s eyes widened in surprise as guards surged forward. 

Lord Urcheon grabbed an advancing knight by wrist and throat, knocking the sword from him, smacking his palm into the guard’s nose. Before the first hit the floor, the Lord brought his elbow up, forcing another to the ground. He drew his sword. 

“Lioness of Cintra! I come to claim what is rightfully mine. Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise.” 

Geralt turned to the Queen, already poised for her response. The sound of swords scraping out of their scabbards had Geralt scanning the room. Jaskier had his arm out, a few fair ladies behind him, as well as some young men. He was pushing them back as the fight broke out anew. 

Lord Urcheon knew his way around a blade, Geralt thought, he had to, to survive this long in a world so unforgiving. His sword crippled the Queen’s guards, either taking their legs out from under them or butting them with the hilt. 

He was slowly becoming surrounded, his sword disarmed. One guard struck him across the face. 

Urcheon groaned as he hit the floor, blood spilling down his chin. Queen Calanthe raised from her seat, watching the guard advance on Urcheon’s prone form. He shuffled away on his back as fast as he could. 

Geralt shoved his chair back, rounding the guards by his table. He took up one of the fallen steel blades.

“No!” Pavetta cried, tears falling down her cheeks. Swinging upwards, he brought the sword through the wooden handle of the battleaxe. Lord Urcheon caught it, Geralt wasting no time to slit the man’s throat. 

He fell with a heavy clatter, Urcheon sliding the spear out and locking it in place. Geralt looked down at him, waiting till he got to his feet, before turning back to Queen Calanthe.

“Kill them both!” She cried, extending her arm.

The knight stayed almost back to back with Geralt. They swung quickly and almost methodically through the crowding guards. 

Geralt never seemed to stand still for even a second, his body twisting and head turning. He could feel his pupils dilate slightly, keeping track of the different movements. 

  
  


“The Law of Surprise has been called.” A loud crack of a chair over a guard’s head had Geralt glancing to Eist Tuirseach. 

Armed with only his fist, he began smacking through the Lords that surrounded him. “You kill them…” He headbutted a lord soundly breaking his nose, before drawing his dagger. “You kill me.” 

There were yells and cries as the three of them formed a small clearing in the middle of the hall. Guards littered the floor, unmoving. Geralt barely saw the Queen take up a blade, until it was pointed at him.

“Stop.” Their swords did not touch, but Geralt could see the fear in her eyes. “Stop!” The Queen commanded, her voice silencing the hall. The Witcher lowered his blade. 

“Duny!” Pavetta rushed from the table, throwing her arms around the knight. He closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Pavetta took his face in her hands. “I told you to stay away.”

Queen Calanthe shook slightly, taking a few steps towards her daughter.

Lord Urcheon held his hand out, moving away from Pavetta, and dropping to one knee. 

“Your Majesty…” He laid his weapon down. “The Witcher speaks the truth.” Slowly he rose, holding his hands out carefully. “I was cursed as a young boy. My whole life a living misery until the day that I saved your husband, King Roegner, from a certain death. By tradition, I chose The Law of Surprise as payment. Whatever windfall he came home to find… would be mine.”

“Oh, that stupid bastard. Better you had let him die!”

“You knew he’d come, and you pushed me to kill him.” Geralt saw Pavetta’s tear stained face look to him in disbelief. 

“And you… carousing with the beast that swindled your stupid father!”

“ ‘Tis no swindle. Asking for payment with the Law of Surprise is as old as mankind itself.” Eist held his arm out to the Queen.

“Don’t lecture me, Eist.” 

“It’s an honest gamble. As likely to be rewarded with a bumper crop as a newborn pup. Or… a child of surprise.” Pavetta took the knight’s arm, watching her mother stand in near tears. “He could not know. Destiny has determined the surprise be Pavetta.”

“When I heard that King Roegner had returned to find a child on the way… I abandoned all thought of claiming the Law of Surprise. I knew… I knew no woman would ever accept me like this. And so I waited.” Pavetta rubbed her hand on her knight’s chest, her face stricken. “I waited until the twelfth bell, when the curse breaks. I never intended to meet her. Just to watch from afar.”

“Until destiny intervened.” Pavetta took both of Lord Urcheon’s hands in her own. “And our hearts collided.” 

“And at dawn, when I awoke with her in my arms and me… like this.” 

Eist stepped forward, holding the Queens gaze.

“Who are we to challenge destiny? Life was saved, debt must be paid, or the whole order of the world falls apart.” His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat. A supportive smile on his face.

“Honour destiny’s wish,” Mousesack started, “or unleash its wrath upon us all.

“There is no us! I bow to no law made by men who never bore a child! Is there not a man amongst you who does not cower before destiny?” Her eyes were cold as they set on him. “You, Witcher… who has known monsters of every fang and claw… are you afraid too?” 

“No. I've seen mothers lash themselves raw over the death of a child, believing they crossed destiny, ignoring the stench of the 50 other children in the plague cart outside. Destiny… helps people believe there’s an order to this horseshit. There isn’t. But a promise made must be honoured. As true for a commoner… as it is for a Queen.”

Pavetta took Lord Urcheon’s face in her hands once more. 

“I love Duny, mother. I will marry him. I will finally be free.” Queen Calanthe watched as the knight touched her daughter's face tenderly, a smile on his lips.

The Witcher could feel Jaskier’s eyes on him, could almost smell the lemongrass praise he was sure he was telepathically receiving. 

The Queen looked almost young, handing her sword to Eist. He took it, their fingers touching for a long moment. She smiled weakly at him, before facing her daughter once more. 

Calanthe offered her hand. The knight stepped away from Pavetta, taking it in both of his. He lent forward, bowing his head in respect, her lips almost brushing his ear. 

“Here is your destiny.” 

Her mouth twisted into a watery smile. Pulling a dagger from her bodice, she raised it poised to strike. 

“No!” Pavetta screamed. The blade near touched Duny’s throat before everyone was thrown back by a rush of wind. 

Geralt groaned, landing heavily against a stone pillar. He could hear cries from the lords, gasps from Calanthe as Eist held her by the waist, breaking her fall. He could hear the sobs of some of the ladies, Jaskier’s soothing concerns, the windows smashing. 

“My Queen! Are you hurt?” Eist had Calanthe’s head shielded by his arm, Geralt could see where he had been struck by glass, blood slipping down his temple. 

In the storm that formed around them, Pavette took Duny’s hands in hers. They stepped closer to each other, one arm wrapping around his shoulder. He could see Pavetta’s lips moving, the wind growing stronger. Their feet slowly lifted from the marble, turning them as they rose. 

Geralt caught Mousesack’s gaze, nodding sharply. The Witcher pushed off the pillar and flicked his wrist casting a weak _Yrden_. 

The wind did not slow for him, he was shoved back, snarling. Shielding his face with one arm, he pulled a small vial of Petri's Philter from the inside of his jacket. He struggled to uncork it, draining it quickly. 

Mousesack strained against the wind, forcing his hands out. Geralt could feel the magic flow from the man. He groaned, barely keeping his footing as he willed the potion to work fast. Gritting his teeth, Geralt fought hard against the barrier pressing his hand through with another flick of his wrist, _Yrden_ much stronger due to both the potion and Mousesack's magic wrapping around him. 

Pavetta met his eyes with a gasp, his fingers casting _Aard_ with a quick blue flash. The knight and princess dropped to the floor, the hall falling silent. 

Mousesack had a sheen of sweat over his skin, gasping for breath. Geralt nodded at him, breathing heavily. 

“Do you believe in destiny now?” Eist asked quietly, helping the Queen sit up. Pavetta pulled Duny to his feet, holding him close. Calanthe stood, Eist’s hands on her elbows. 

“Gerat!” Jaskier gasped, rushing to his side. The crowd seemed to follow the Queen, getting to their feet and stepping forward a slight. 

The Queen took Pavetta’s face in one hand, pulling her into her arms. A tear slid down Calanthe’s face. 

“I thought your grandmother’s gift had skipped you… as it did me. It seems I was wrong. About so many things.” Calanthe took several deep breaths. 

Jaskier’s fingers curled around Geralt’s wrist, his other hand resting in the small of Geralt's back.

“Destiny has spoken! And I have listened. The Law of Surprise will be honoured. Pavetta will marry… Lord Urcheon.” The murmurs of the crowd had Jaskier tighten his grip on Geralt, and Lord Eist spoke out.

“React poorly, and you won’t just face the Lioness, you will be facing the sea hounds of Skellige. Because Queen Calanthe… has agreed to my proposal of marriage.” 

Geralt looked around, many lords had their hands clasped to their chests or to their women. Jaskier’s free hand was clutched by two, both with tears down their cheeks. 

Calanthe held her hand out, Eist taking hers, Pavetta reaching for the other. 

“There will be two vows here tonight!” Duny joined the end, holding Pavetta’s hand tight. “I assume that’s agreeable.” She waited till the lords had nodded with bowed heads. “Delightful.” 

They soon had a circle arranged around the Queen, each lord holding a candle. Mousesack, Eist, Geralt and Jaskier stood inside the circle. Pavetta and Duny on their knees in front of their Queen. The bard’s hands were wrapped around Geralt’s arm, one in the crook of his elbow, the other had hold of his little finger. He ‘hmm’ed, low, only reaching Jaskier’s ears. 

“Pavetta…” The Queen laid a heavy blue sash over their joined hands. “Duny. “ Calanthe rested her own hand over theirs. “With my blessing… I thee bind.” She inhaled brokenly, her smile only for Pavetta. 

She let their hands fall away from hers, the room held its breath as they lent forward for a sweet kiss. Making Jaskier startle, Duny let out a strained bark. He grunted and growled, falling on the floor. 

Geralt watched as the spines on his face seemed to meld away, his pointed teeth falling out of his mouth. New, human teeth pushed through his gums. The brown fur that once covered him peeled off, Duny tore at it while the lords gasped. He pulled off his glove, bloody and red, to reveal a very human hand. 

Duny launched forward on his knees, taking Pavetta in his arms. Her hands wiped away the grime from his face, laughter spilling out of her mouth. They kissed, the press of mouths stronger, passionate. 

“The twelfth bell has not yet rung..” Pavetta smiled with disbelief, mirrored by her mother.

“What has happened?” 

“I think your blessing of this marriage… has fulfilled their destiny.” Mousesack grinned, Calanthe’s eyes wide. “The curse has been lifted.”

“Phew. I think this has the makings of my greatest ballad yet.” Jaskier chuckled beside Geralt.

“If you’re alive in the morning. Don’t… grope for trout in any peculiar rivers until dawn.” Geralt shook Jaskier off his arm, turning on his heel.

“No, wait! Wait.” Duny struggled to his feet, reaching out to Geralt. “You saved my life. I must repay you.”

“You’ve proven yourself to be the kind of man who would do the same.” The Witcher forced himself to stand solid, the weariness from the night's chaos settling in. He shrugged. “I want nothing.”

“No, please. Please, Geralt of Rivia, do not feel like you’re doing me a service. I cannot start a new life in the shadow of a life debt.”

Geralt swallowed. Duny’s face was young, innocent, so very trusting. He rolled his eyes.

“Fine. I… claim the tradition as you have, the Law of Surprise. Give me that which you already have but do not know.”

“No! What have you done, Witcher?”

“Fear not, Your Majesty, if I am seen in your kingdom again it'll be to kill a real monster, not lay claim to a crop or a new pup. Destiny can go fu--” 

Pavetta retched, throwing up over the marble. Duny and the Queen dropped to their knees, reaching for her. 

“Pavetta? Are you… oh…” Geralt met the eyes of Eist, glancing to Mousesack before staring at the floor.

“Fuck.” 

He hesitated, before walking away. Mousesack followed quickly on his heel, handing off his candle to one of the lords as he passed. 

“Clearly the girl has access to immense primal power.” Mousesack raised his arm, gesturing back to the hall. 

“Yeah, and with no idea how to control it.” They held each other's gaze.

“I’m gonna stay. Guide her.” Geralt sighed, nodding his head.

“You’re a good man, Mousesack.”

“You should stay too.”

“This has been enough partying for me. I’m getting out of here. Alone. “

“You’re bound to this now, Geralt. Whether you like it or not.”

“I’m not for changing. You know me better than that.”

“Yes I do, but you can’t outrun destiny just because you’re terrified of it. It’s coming, Geralt. Not believing won’t change that.”

“Bullshit. This was just a girl using her magic to stop her mother from gutting her lover. Nothing more.”

“So you say. But the bond that will come into being between you and this child… when it is born, will be extraordinary. If you dismiss it, leave without claiming this… child surprise, you will surely unleash true calamity upon us all. “

“I’ll take that chance. Mind yourself. True words are rare birds in courts like this. Watch for daggers in your back. Or, more likely, poison.” Geralt laid his hand on Mousesack’s shoulder. “Be careful, old friend.” 

Mousesack sighed, shaking his head as Geralt walked away.

“You’re forgetting your bard!” The druid called after him.

“He’s not mine.” Geralt growled, opening the doors at the end of the hall.

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Unfortunately, for him, he was wrong. 

Geralt had returned to the tavern. The bar was full of Cintrans. A bard dressed in purple was playing a flute, a tanned woman at his side, singing. Geralt recognised the song, one of Jaskier’s most requested. He bought a tankard of ale, and went to his room. 

Geralt's bed was made, his armour still neatly laid out on the table as he had left it. Jaskier’s bed was unmade, clothing strewn about. With a sigh, Geralt folded his doublets, standing his whore’s bag upright. He lit the candles with a murmur of _Igni_ from across the room.

He took off his jacket, pulling off his shirt and boots, folding the clothes and stuffing them in one of Jaskier’s bags. Slipping between the sheets, Geralt tucked an arm behind his head, taking a mouthful of ale. He let his eyes fall closed. 

When he heard the bard stagger up the stairs, giggling, Geralt groaned. He got to his feet, opening the door, expecting to see a woman hanging off one of Jaskier’s arms. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier laughed. He was alone, make up smeared over his face and neck. Geralt grabbed him by the collar, sneering at the wine and perfume that soaked his skin. 

“Get in there and clean yourself up.” He hauled him into the bathroom, Jaskier stumbling over his own feet.

“Geralt- dear one, how have you been?” Jaskier dragged out his name, hands sliding over Geralt’s bare shoulders. He giggled some more when Geralt lifted him onto one of the cabinets in the bathroom. His ankles hooked around Geralt's calf's. Jaskier hiccuped through a hum, running his fingers up Geralt's ribs, over his medallion.

“What goats have you been herding?” Geralt wrestled him out of his doublet, popping the clasps and pulling it down his arms. Jaskier’s head fell forward, mouth open against Geralt’s neck. 

“Nobody I wanted. Women like a bard, you know. We’re good with our fingers.” Geralt hummed, stretching to grab a cloth from the bucket of water on the side. “Aah!” Jaskier’s hands flew to Geralt’s biceps as the cold water dripped down his neck. Geralt huffed out a laugh. 

He wiped down Jaskier’s throat, removing the smears of red from his skin. He held Jaskier’s jaw, watching him cross his eyes, trying to look at Geralt’s hand. 

“How much have you drank, Lark?” Geralt spoke mostly to himself, tipping Jaskier’s head back to wipe the cloth over his mouth. 

“Enough so I’m not concerned about the repro-repercussions of this…” Jaskier pulled Geralt’s hand off his jaw, slipping it down to hold at his throat. He moved one hand up to fist in Geralt’s hair, pulling the Witcher’s mouth to his. 

He pressed his lips against Geralt’s softly, pulling away just enough to brush his nose along his. 

“Hmm.”

Jaskier looked up at him, the blue in his eyes so impossibly beautiful. Geralt sighed. 

“Geralt…” Jaskier breathed, smelling of sweet wine. He pulled the bard forward by his throat, a growl on his lips. Swallowing Jaskier's gasp, Geralt kissed him harder, dropping the cloth in favour of wrapping around the bard’s back. 

He lifted him from the cabinet, squeezing a moan out of him. His knees were tight on Geralt’s side, the hand in his hair tugging gently to tilt his head. 

Geralt walked him back into the bedroom, kneeling on the bed. Jaskier didn’t let go, clinging tight to Geralt’s chest. His tongue pressed against Geralt’s lips. Geralt tightened his hand in the bard’s hair, crouching over Jaskier’s body, his legs falling over Geralt’s things. He let Jaskier lick into his mouth, tongue slick against his own. 

He broke the kiss, leaving the bard panting, wriggling in his grip in efforts to bring Geralt back down. 

“Stay still.” He grunted, stripping Jaskier from his clothes. He brushed his hand over Jaskier’s dick, his slender hips bucking into his touch. 

“Geralt- Geralt.” Jaskier whined, fingers smoothing up his arms, down his chest, moaning as Geralt freed his own cock from his breeches. “Sweet Melitele, have mercy.” Jaskier murmured, biting his lip. 

Geralt spat on his palm, taking hold of both of them. He groaned into Jaskier’s shoulder, mouthing at the pale skin. Jaskier’s hands were everywhere, nails dragging along his spine, pulling hard on his hair, teeth biting softly at his ear. 

“I can take more than that, you know. I’m not gonna break.” His breath hitched, pressing Geralt's mouth harder against his skin. Geralt grunted, shifting his weight onto his other knee, teeth sinking into the bard’s shoulder. 

He pumped them faster, Jaskier’s constant stream of praise in his ear, becoming strained as Geralt pressed his thumb harder into his throat. 

“Oh, fuck- Geralt, like that.” Jaskier gasped, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s temple. He choked on Geralt’s name, sucking in a hard breath. “Darling, I can’t--” He broke off in a noiseless moan, spilling over Geralt’s fist. Geralt felt his chest rise and fall, letting his hand be batted away by Jaskier’s. 

Running his nimble fingers through the cum on his stomach, Jaskier took Geralt’s cock in his hand.

“Jask.” Geralt loosened his grip around the bard’s neck, running his nose up the column of his throat. He licked away the sweat, inhaling deeply. Wrapping his hand around Jaskier's, feeling his grip going lax, he moved their hands together. “Tighter.” He whispered against his skin.

“Sorry, you’re just so--” 

“Hush, little Lark.” Geralt pressed their lips together, tongue dominating in his mouth, swallowing down Jaskier’s high moans. Geralt sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, enjoying the way Jaskier shuddered under his hands. “ ‘m close, Jask.” 

Jaskier nodded, speeding up their joined hands. His mouth was parted, cheeks flushed rose. Geralt kissed him hard as he came. 

They panted against each other for a few moments, Jaskier’s lips tugging into a smile. “Darling… You’re so lovely.” His fingers were feather light across his temple. Geralt felt a flash of panic, realising his eyes would be blown black for having them closed, but Jaskier stroked down his face. “My lovely, dear Wolf.” 

The Witcher swallowed hard, sitting back on his knees.

“I’ll grab… the cloth.” His eyes raked down Jaskier’s body, a blush going from his cheeks to his chest, small deep red marks on the side of his throat, a wide set of teeth marks in the meat of his shoulder. The cum pooled on his stomach, his hand still dripping with Geralt’s seed.

Geralt slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. He splashed his face with cool water, clenching his jaw. 

Come sunrise he would have fucked up another… another what?

Jaskier was by no means his friend, except in all the ways he was. 

He soaked the cloth, deciding to ignore that thought for now. 

Jaskier was snoring softly. He hadn’t moved at all. Geralt shook his head, a fond smile on his lips. He wiped over the bard’s soft stomach and hands, wiping away any evidence from his cock. He returned the cloth to the bathroom, slinging it into the bucket, before wriggling his breeches off completely. 

The bed creaked as he settled behind the bard. Geralt slipped his arm under Jaskier, pulling him to his chest.

Pressing his face to the back of Jaskier’s neck, he breathed in deeply, smelling faint traces of their release still in his skin. Geralt hummed, pulling the blanket over them both, closing his eyes. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Jaskier received summons a few days later to Oxenfurt. He had smiled wanly to Geralt. 

“I suppose there's no way you’ll accompany me?” 

Geralt had shaken his head, fastening his packs to Roach’s saddle. Jaskier sighed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. His voice was soft in his ear. “I understand, darling. Be safe out there.” 

Geralt had not returned the embrace, just stared at his gloved hands until Jaskier released him. The bard was dressed in one of Geralt's warmer tunics, sleeves hung past his wrists, the strings at his neck undone. Geralt breathed in deep lungfuls of sweet lemongrass, traces of his own dusty straw scent clinging to Jaskier's skin, a lump forming in his throat. He never was very fond of goodbyes. 

Geralt preferred leaving in silence, maybe a hug from his brother, who knew when they’d next see each other. But as he watched the bard shoulder his lute, fingers pressing on the yellowed bruise, Geralt found himself wishing it was possible for Witcher’s to have friends.

They met again by coincidence, if Geralt believed in such a thing. 

Jaskier wandered down the path, his lute in his hands like usual. He had learnt a fair amount in his few months back in Oxenfurt; how to make a beautiful red ink from snowberries and lemon juice, how to play the flute, how to drink most of his colleagues under the bar, how to make and use a shortbow, how to fletch arrows. He hoped Geralt would be proud of him for those last ones. 

Jaskier had found his mind frequently occupied with the Witcher, whether that was due to the countless ballads he had based on the man, or not, really who could say? 

The Countess de Sael had sought after him, eager to hear him spin the dramatic tales of the mighty Wolf. Her lips had been sticky with paint, her skin chalky, but her wrists were delicate and she didn’t mind when Jaskier spilt wine down them both.

Gods, the wine back in Oxenfurt was something of its own nature. Beautifully rich and dark, made with the berries from the trees in the courtyards. He shook his flask, tipping some past his lips. It was strong. His colleagues weakened it with fruit juices but with only the company of the trees and the horseshoe’s in the dusty road, Jaskier took another mouthful. 

Who would even know? 

The Countess had turned him away from her bed a few days before he left. Jaskier can’t remember a sober day since. Because, yeah, okay, he thought about the Witcher often, and yeah, okay, after a little too much drink, his name might fall from his lips. He hummed as he walked, his feet taking their own path. 

_"Cause you all know..._

_That this bard_

_Loves ladies from Nilfgaard_

_Cause Nilfgaard can kiss my…”_

He almost walked by the chestnut mare, stopping before his brain told him to. Jaskier felt his face light up, spotting the broad shoulders of the Witcher through the trees.

  
  


“Geralt! Hello. What’s it been? Months? Years? What is time, anyway? I heard you were in town. Are you following me, you scamp? I mean, I'm flattered and everything, but you should really think about getting a hobby one of these days. Ugh.” He took a swig from his flask, baring his teeth at the taste. “Do you want some? “How are you doing?” I hear you ask.”

“I didn’t.” 

Geralt’s voice was rough, dark rings under his eyes. Jaskier took a shallow breath, smelling the sweat in Geralt’s skin, probably soaking his heavy tunic. Shaking his head, Jaskier continued, undeterred.

“Well, the Countess de Stael, my muse and beauty of this world, has left me.” He waved his arms. “Again. Rather coldly and unexpectedly, I might add.” He hiccuped, a small giggle passing through his lips. “I fear I shall die a brokenhearted man. Or a hungry one, at the very least. Unless somebody,” He tipped his head, bending at the hip to be eye level to Geralt. “Fancies sharing a fish with an old friend?” 

Geralt walks away, heaving his fishing net. Jaskier swayed a little as he stood, the blood rushed back from his head. He sighed, following the Witcher along the bank.

“Oh, are we not using ‘friend’? Yeah, sure. Let’s just give it another decade. Geralt, my love, you’re fantastic at a great many things, but clearly, fishing is not one of them. Have you caught anything today? What are you fishing for exactly? Is it cod? Carp? Pike? Bream? I'm just- I’m just listing fish that i know. Zander? Is that a fish?”

“I’m not fishing. I can’t sleep.”

Jaskier watched him throw the net out into the lake. Geralt’s arms were tanned beautifully, veins raising the skin. His shoulders rolled as he caught up the strings of the net, pulling it back to his feet with fluid motions. 

“Right. Good. well, that- that makes sense. In so much that it sort of… doesn’t. What’s going on, Geralt? Talk to me.”

Geralt sighs, turning to face him. His eyes were almost wild and his teeth were bared, any person with sense would probably back away from the Wolf, Jaskier pursed his lips in thought. Yes, definitely.

“A Djinn.”

“A what?”

“I’m looking for a Djinn.” He pulled in the net again, growling low as Jaskier swayed a little more into his space.

“For a Dj- for a Djinn? A Dj- like a genie?” He laughed a little. “The floaty fellas with the.. the bad tempers and the banned magics, that kind of genie?” 

He watched Geralt, leaning down to pull in the net. His breeches were damp from where the net laid across his thigh as he searched through it.

“Yes. It’ll grant me wishes. It's in this lake somewhere.” Geralt growled. Jaskier laughed, finding it maddeningly easy to be at such ease when his Witcher spun round, eyes wild, so very wild. “And I can’t fucking sleep!” He snarled, teeth bared. Jaskier held his vicious golden gaze until Geralt huffed. 

“I don’t mean to play priest's ear or anything, but has it occurred to you that maybe we’re merely rubbing salve on a tumour? Not exactly addressing the root cause of this problem? Hm? I mean, maybe, just- just maybe, this whole sleeplessness-ness has got something to do with what that druid Mousesack said to you in Cintra?” He dropped his empty flask with a little sigh, putting both hands on his hips. “You know, the Law of Surprise? Destiny? Being unable to escape the child that belongs to you, et cetera, et cetera?”

“No! It’s not that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right. But what if you’re not? You know, the Countess de Stael once said to me that destiny is just the embodiment of the soul’s desire to grow.” Jaskier sat against a raised root. 

“Did you sing to her before she left?”

“I did actually, and she... Why, what are you implying?”

Geralt looked up at him from his crouch, lips pulling down in feigned innocence. Jaskier felt his mouth drop.

“Oh…whohoho. We are so having this conversation. Come on, Geralt. Tell me. Be honest.” He stood, staggering slightly as the wine swirled around his brain. “How's my singing?”

Geralt threw the net in the lake once more.

“It’s like ordering a pie and finding it has no filling. “

Jaskier stuttered in shock, mouth working. He pointed accusingly at Geralt.

“You need a nap! I mean, are you trying to hurt my feelings, Geralt? It’s- it’s downright indecorous of you, if I'm completely honest, and-- wow. Wow what is- what is that?”

Geralt steps towards Jaskier, the bard moving into his space easily. He tilted his head, looking at the dirt under Geralt's nails. He counted the small scars across the back of Geralt's hand, thin lines but must have been deep if they left such visible marks.

“It’s a wizard's seal. The Djinn.” Jaskier narrowed his eyes a little at his tone. The Witcher was grumpy.

“Do you mind if I--” He tried to snatch the amphora off Geralt, fingers curling in the little handle.

“Jaskier…”

“Take back that bit about my fillingless pie. Take it back, you get your Djinny-Djinn-Djinn.” He points a finger at Geralt. The bard tried to shake the amphora out of his grip.

“Let go.”

“No! No, you let go, you horse’s arse!” Jaskier strained, pulling with both hands. Geralt’s knuckles whitened as he held the top of the amphora, his jaw clenched. 

Geralt's eyes widen as the lid pops off. 

“Hm.” Jaskier tips the jug “That’s a bit of an anticlimax.”

The breeze stirred around them. 

“Or is it? Djinn, I have freed thee, and as of today, I am thy lord. Firstly, may Valdo Marx, the troubadour of Cidaris, be struck down with apoplexy and die. Secondly, the Countess de Stael must welcome me back with glee, open arms and very little clothing. Thirdly--”

Geralt grabbed him by the back of his jacket, his hand scrunching in the collar.

“Jaskier! Stop. There are only three wishes.”

“Oh, come on, you always say you want nothing from life. How was I supposed to know you wanted three wishes all to yourself?” Jaskier yelled. “Gods forbid, you actually talk to me!” 

“I just want some damn peace!” The Witcher lent forward, lips curled in a snarl. Jaskier could feel the hot puff of breath on his face. 

“Well, here's your peace!” He smashed the clay amphora on the ground. With a loud growl, Geralt lent down, cupping his hand to pick up the pieces. 

Jaskier felt his throat tighten, a lump forming at the back of it. He tried to speak. As if he had swallowed down a broken wine bottle, his throat stung. Jaskier wheezed, choking on the liquid filling his mouth. 

“Geralt… Geralt… it’s the Djinn!” His voice cracked and strained over the Witcher’s name. As Geralt stood, he flung his hand out at the Djinn, sending it flying across the lake. It screeched and growled, Jaskier losing sight of the black wisp as he collapsed on his knees. 

He choked on Geralt's name, the word cutting into his throat.

“Jaskier.“ Geralt reached for him. Jaskier’s face was turning red, air barely able to escape his mouth. He flailed his arm, fingers knocking into Geralt’s arm several times before he managed to hook his fingers around his forearm. 

Jaskier coughed, the effort racking through his body, spit and blood spilling over his lips. He could see the bright red on the muddy floor.

Looking up at Geralt desperately, Jaskier wheezed in a breath. The blood dripped from his mouth, staining his doublet.

“Jaskier!” Geralt stood him up, one hand fisted in the back of his jacket, the other pulling at the neck. Jaskier's hands scrambled with his, pulling away to reveal a swollen lump where his Adam's apple should be. “Fuck.” 

Jaskier seemed to sway in and out of consciousness as Geralt hauled him to his feet. He slipped one arm under the backs of his knees, lifting him off the floor. Geralt almost shuddered as blood bubbled in Jaskier’s throat. 

“Stop talking, you’ll make it worse.” Geralt grunted, easing Jaskier into the saddle. “Can you hold on?” Jaskier coughed, turning his head so the blood splattered the floor, barely keeping grip on Roach’s reins. 

The Witcher growled, swinging himself behind the bard, holding him with one arm wrapped around his waist. Roach started in a trot, Geralt balancing Jaskier’s head on his shoulder so he wouldn’t damage his brain or whatever was in his head to make him pick a fight with Geralt over a chaos demon. 

He urged his mare into a gallop, following the path to the village.

“Is there a healer here?” He yelled, stopping Roach at some white tents. 

“Yes, yes. Chireadan, the elf healer.” A man in armour greeted him with a pipe. He gestured to a slightly bigger tent, reaching for Roach’s reins as Geralt slid off her. 

“Don’t touch her.” Geralt told the man sharply. Jaskier wheezed, falling down Roach’s side, hands grabbing for Geralt. He could barely stand, Geralt half dragging him in their haste. 

The elf met them at the door, his face placid. Geralt always found that comforting in healers, but all he could feel the adrenaline course through him. 

“It was a Djinn curse. A wish.” Geralt told him gruffly. Jaskier groaned, loud and pained as Geralt carried him in, setting him down on a low stool. 

“A Djinn in a bottle? It’s like a fairytale. Without the happy ending” Jaskier clutched at Geralt's arms, his eyes damp, the blood on his chin making him seem deathly pale. 

“Can you help him?” He took a step back, letting Chireadan crouch in front of Jaskier. The bard tightened his fingers around one of Geralt’s wrists, the other on Chireadan’s arm in an effort to stay upright. Jaskier lifted his chin, gritting his teeth in pain as he gasped for breath. 

“Oh, dear.” Chireadan’s eyes widened, his brow furrowing as he examined the bard. 

“What?” Geralt stared hard. He could feel Jaskier’s fingers lax and strain on his wrist. 

“I assure you I have received the best medical education right here in Rinde, but... “ He swallowed, glancing at the Witcher. “These injuries are of the magical nature. I can help with the pain, but it’s a bit like…” Jaskier nodded his head, more blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“Putting salve on a tumour?” Geralt recognised the betrayal on Jaskier’s face, and in a different situation, he might even have been inclined to laugh at the look in his blue eyes.

“His throat was attacked.” Chireadan stood hurriedly, Geralt lurching forward to catch Jaskier from falling. “If the spell’s action isn’t halted as soon as possible, that damage might be irreversible.”

“Ger-” Jaskier groans, choking up more blood. 

“And the longer he goes untreated, the more likely it is to spread. He could die.” Chireadan tipped a few different herbs into a small metal bowl. 

“Fuck. Geralt!” Strings of thick blood clung to the bards lip, his arm flying up to twist in Geralt’s shirt. 

“Uh… yeah, we won’t let that happen.” He patted Jaskier’s back, the other hand squeezing Jaskier's.

“The medicine should buy him a few hours, but he needs a magical remedy.” He held the bowl to Jaskier’s mouth. “You’ll have to take him to another town.”

“There isn’t a mage here?” Geralt tipped his head in alarm. 

“Uh…” Chireadan looked uncertain. “The mayor says they are dangerous.”

“What aren’t you saying?” The Witcher glared. Jaskier wheezed, leaning against Geralt’s leg. “Tell me.” He tried to soften his voice. Chireadan looked at him, lips moving as he hesitated. 

“Well… there… there is one mage.” Geralt raised his brow pointedly. “I… was tasked with bringing this mage to justice. But I was unable to penetrate certain defences. The mayor himself has made the catch and has imprisoned the mage in his house.” 

“That wasn’t so fucking hard, was it?” He pulled Jaskier to standing, the bard groaned, sucking in a rattling breath. 

“Be careful. The mage is powerful and malicious. And quite cunning.”

“I’ll go find him.” Geralt pushed the elf out of the way as he hauled Jaskier out of the tent. 

Jaskier was a little more helpful in climbing on Roach, the herbs working their way around his body. Geralt didn’t have to hold him so tight, instead just kept him bracketed by his arms, the bard coughing against his chest. 

They rode until the sun sunk behind the trees, the mayor's house finally bobbing into view. Roach’s hooves were loud on the ground, a round man coming out of the house, his hands raised.

“Woah!” Roach neighed in protest, his hand landing on her neck. “A fee for entrance.” Jaskier wheezed weakly, looking up at Geralt.

“A fee to see the mayor? This is urgent.” 

“I don’t make the rules, but money opens all doors.” He had a trimmed white beard that framed his smirking mouth, his hand held out.

“Hm.” Geralt reached for one of his coin pouches, Jaskier groaning with the movement. He shook it, before bringing up against the man’s jaw, knocking him to the ground. “So it does.” 

He dismounted Roach, dragging Jaskier off. Geralt managed to get to the front door, struggling to hold Jaskier upright as the bard's knees seemed to fold under him. He grunted, jabbing his shoulder into Jaskier’s stomach, lifting him up. 

“Stop your bellyaching.” Geralt listened to the bard cough, felt his convulsions over his shoulder, blood hitting the ground. He smacked gently on Jaskier’s thigh, opening the door. 

The corridor was lit with coals, shelves lining one wall. Geralt climbed the twisting staircase, opening out into a dining area. He sat Jaskier on the nearest table. 

“Woah.” A naked man dropped the cup in his hands. Jaskier stared, bleary-eyed, up at Geralt. 

“Welcome… to my home.” 

“You’re the Mayor of Rinde?” He asked, holding Jaskier up by the collar. “Not exactly what I was expecting.” He looked down curiously at the bard. His hand was twisting in the dipped neck of Geralt’s tunic, mouth working. 

“Ger- Geralt…” 

“Sorry, he’s in a bad way. Is there a mage that lives here?” Geralt forced a smile on his face.

“Ah. the apple juice! She wants some. And she always gets… what she wants.” The mayor’s eyes were blown black, Geralt wondered if he was drunk. 

“I don’t understand. Does he want me to get him the apple juice?” He frowned, pulling Jaskier back a little to look him in the face. 

“I don’t-- Geralt.” He spoke breathlessly, blood spilling down his chin. He whimpered as Geralt lent over him to reach the jug of apple juice. The Mayor began to snore, seated on a bench at the end of the room.

“Oh… Good.” Geralt hauled Jaskier into standing, guiding him around the large table in the centre and around the corner. Opening the doors at the end of the short hallway were more twisting stairs and another piece of corridor. “Fuck.”

Geralt took a deep breath, smelling the tinge of magic in the air. He pushed Jaskier to the left, the corridor opening out into a large room. 

Tens of bare people were squirming amidst a slow, green fog. He could feel Jaskier stiffen, no doubt the cloud of magic would surely have an affect on him. 

“Hmm.” 

At the end of the room, a woman in all black lazed on a chaise. Her eyes were closed behind a black lace mask that covered part of her face. The fog curled around their ankles as they moved through the bodies, Geralt sneering at the ones who reached for the bard. 

Her eyes opened as they approached.

Jaskier’s eyes were unfocused as he looked into them with a huff. Geralt held him closer, as peoples arms brushed them. 

“I, uh… brought you apple juice.” Geralt proffered the jug. 

“And quite a bit more. You’re immune.” She sounded young. Geralt frowned a little, trying to breathe shallowly as the scent of magic surrounded him.

“You must be the mage.”

“Yennefer of Vengerberg.” She placed her goblet down, looking up at him from under dark lashes.

“Chireadan didn’t mention that, uh…”

“What did he fail to mention?” There was a dangerous note to her voice.

“We need your help.” 

“”We”?”

He looked to the bard, who was staring back at him, blue eyes so wide and trusting. He wheezed as Geralt huffed. 

“Just a friend, I hope?” Geralt felt like her violet eyes could see more than she let on. “Your heartbeat, it’s extraordinarily slow. You’re… a mutant.”

“A Witcher.” Geralt relented. He had seen that look on many feminine faces before. The way her eyes widened, just for a second, excitement mixing in with her scent. “Geralt of Rivia.”

“The famous White Wolf!” She stood, slowly walking to him. “I thought you'd have fangs or horns or something.”

“I had them filed down.” He told her dryly, ignoring the way a bitter scent clung to the bard. She chuckled, circling him. 

“First time I've seen a Witcher up close. What little spells can you cast with your hands? Call it professional curiosity.”

“Please, Jaskier here needs immediate attention. And then, if you’d like, I’ll indulge your curiosity all night long.” 

There, in the backs of his eyes, he could feel a weight, slowly going to his head, like a sodden blanket. He clenched his jaw, focusing on Jaskier’s strained breaths. Grounding himself, he met her gaze.

“It won't take all night. But I'm sure we can find a way to fill time.” They were almost pressed chest to chest, the scent of fruits and lust spilling off her. 

“He was attacked by a Djinn.” He put the jug on the floor, undoing the bag containing the shattered jug from his belt.

“A Djinn?” He heard her heartbeat spike with interest.

“Whatever’s wrong with him, it’s spreading.” She took the bag off him. “Fix it, and I’ll pay you. Whatever the price.”

He watched as she turned the cork over in her hands, staring at the wizard’s seal. 

“You’ll have to do better than juice.” Geralt fought a smirk off his face. “Ragamuffin!” 

Around them, like a switch had been flicked, the spell dropped. People gasped, clutching for modesty., confused murmurs filling the room as the fizzy scent of her magic dissipated. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Geralt paced the dining room, hands settled on his hips. Yennefer had sent him away after he had deposited the bard on the large four poster bed. 

Jaskier had clutched at his hand, mouth working to talk but only resulting in choking up more blood. Geralt smoothed down his hair, murmuring a quiet _“Shush, Lark.”_ before the mage had waved her hand, shooing him out of the room. 

“He’s in a deep healing sleep.”

“How long will he sleep for?”

“Long enough for you to bathe.” Geralt narrowed his eyes at the easy flirting. Yennefer dropped some dark clothing onto the table between them. 

“How did you… oh, right. Magic. And I hardly think bathing in this house is going to leave me any cleaner.”

“I insist. I can not only guess the age and breed of your horse, but also it’s colour… by the smell.”

“Hmm.” Yennefer left the room, Geralt nodded his head a slight. Nobody had spoken to him with such confidence. Even Jaskier had hesitated upon first meeting him, although he had gotten over that quickly. Both the bard and the mage had no trace of fear on their skin. Maybe he was losing his touch. 

Yennefer led him to the baths, the water heating quickly with a slight wink of her eye. She watched him, unashamed, as he stripped out of his clothing, sliding beneath the water. 

“How did a humble bard find himself in such a predicament?” 

_He trusted a Witcher_. Geralt hummed, leaning against the edge of the bath.

“I was searching for a Djinn. He was passing by.”

“What use would a Witcher have for a Djinn?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Fishing for a Djinn seems an extreme measure to remedy sleeplessness.”

“When do extreme measures seem reasonable, yes? I’m desperate.”

“And yet, you didn’t ask me to help with that.”

“Looming death kind of jumped the queue. Now I'm wondering if I can afford you. Have I accidentally agreed to indentured servitude?” He could feel her eyes on him, raking over his skin and lingering on his scars. “Go ahead, ask about them. Everyone does.” 

_Liar._

The first time Jaskier had helped him bathe, a young griffin had tore a chunk out of his shoulder and broken his leg. The bard’s fingers brushed over them, asking only if they hurt. 

“Everyone else is boring.” She was right. Yennefer rose from the edge of the bath, moving to stand behind Geralt. He heard her dress fall to the floor. Turning his head, he looked up at her. 

“Turn around.” 

“Hm.” He smiled softly, enjoying the boldness of her. Geralt turned in the water, glancing to a mirror. 

With a flick of her finger, Yennefer obstructed his view. “That’s cheating.”

It was… refreshing. To be in the company of a woman so bold. He almost forgot the look on her face upon hearing he was a Witcher. The same look that has women biting their lip, already thinking about the perks that come with the terror. The improved strength. The stamina. The speed. The ability to gloat to her friends that she had tamed the White Wolf of Rivia. 

Yennefer had lust pouring off her skin, but it smelt almost… muted. A scent that clung to her, wrapped her long limbs in like a cloak. 

“Nobody smart plays fair.” He felt her slip into the water behind him. “Tell me, are all Witcher's similarly blessed? Come now,” She let her back press against his. “-You promised.”

“Hm. I haven’t conducted a survey, but I’d hardly say we’re blessed.”

“Oh, don’t be so grim. You were created by magic. Our magic.”

“Thank you. Made for a magical childhood.”

“Happy childhoods make for dull company.” She sighed, taking up a sponge. 

“Judging by your wrists and your wits, your childhood was very happy. But Aretuza fixed you up nicely. What was your ailment before? Clubbed foot? Split ends?” He turned his head to look over his shoulder at her. 

“Tell me, are there women who find your coarseness charming? Maybe someplace where they find your coin very charming indeed. How have you kept your bard for so long? “

“Hmm. You seem to find coin pretty charming yourself. Clearly capitalising on the political situation here.” He ignored the comment about Jaskier, trying to shake his light laugh from his head. Maybe because he didn’t rightly know.

“I’m serving the stifled people of this town. Filling a need. Ever heard of it?”

“Hmm. It’s fine to fly in the face of overzealous authority, but to pretend it’s anything other than making a profit…”

“And to pretend you're after a Djinn to cure insomnia?”

“Hmm.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “Fortunately for you, once I’ve paid for your kind services, it’ll be none of your concern.”

“Fortunately for you, I've determined your company and conversation payment enough.”

Geralt turned in alarm, looking at her accusingly. He searched her laughing face for a catch, a joke, something he missed. Nothing was free for a Witcher. With a quiet growl, he pulled himself out of the bath. 

“What’s the matter? Water not suit?” She watched him leave, droplets running down his spine.

He dried efficiently, pulling on the clothes she conjured. They were a little snug, he could see Jaskier’s smirk in the back of his mind. Slipping his medallion over the shirt, he pulled his hair away from his face with a sigh.

Geralt made his way to Jaskier’s room. Yennefer followed him, tying the chemise at her chest. 

“This is a little tight.” He pulled at the bottom of his shirt.

“I believe I sized you up quite right.” 

She lent on the door frame, not coming in just yet. Geralt stood next to Jaskier, eyes following the curve of his throat. Yennefer had removed his jacket, a white, open necked tunic now covered his chest. 

There was blood down his front. He took a deep breath in, letting his eyes slip shut. The sweet lemongrass was there, stale wine, the metallic tang of blood. Yennefer's magic soured his scent.

“Do you doubt my capabilities?”

“No. Just your intentions.” Yennefer chuckled. “I said some things to him. He’s a… “ Geralt wet his lips, letting himself indulge in the memory of Jaskier’s skin, his mouth, his sweet high moans. 

“A friend?” Yennefer said for him. Geralt turned to her. 

“I’d like it not to be the last thing he remembers.”

“He won’t remember much if he’s dead.” Geralt hangs his head. His chest tightened. _But I will_. Yennefer huffs out a laugh. “It’s a joke. I placed him in one of his favourite memories. I know you need him. He will survive. And recover his vocal talents. Does that satisfy you?” She walks into the centre of the room.

“Not in the slightest. But don’t reproach yourself for it, Yennefer.” He walks closer to her. “What was the memory?” He didn’t mean to say it aloud, but the assault of lilac and lemongrass and everything else seemed to weigh him down.

“That’s private…. But I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.” Her tone was teasing.

The wizard's seal caught his eye. He looked to the table, the ring of candles, the star chalked inside it. 

“It’s the sign from the seal. I’ll be taking Jaskier now.” He moved towards him. 

“If you wake him before he’s healed, the spell won’t take. That’s no way to treat a friend, Geralt.” He can't tell if she's lying.

“You want the Djinn, but the amphora’s broken. The Djinn’s already long gone.”

The candle flames grew higher and brighter, the curtains around the bed rustled and swayed. He could hear faint whispering, echoing around the room.

“Do go on. Tell me how stuff works. The Djinn is tied to this plane and its master. How many wishes did the bard express before he lost his voice?”

“You need Jaskier to make his last wish so you can capture it.”

“So that’s… two… then.”

“The Djinn will fight you. If you try and bend it--” The weight in Geralt's mind got suddenly heavier. He closed his eyes trying to shake himself out of it. “That scent… lilac and…” 

“Gooseberries.” Yennefer finished. He exhaled sharply, fighting the magic that pulled cotton wool over his eyes. “Tough to get in your head. You have a strong will, but you can’t contend with me. Sorry I couldn't be direct, I knew you’d fight it.” 

His limbs were heavy, could barely move as she lent up and pressed her lips against his. He tasted blood as she pulled away. 

“I do love a good old- fashioned trap.” She whispered, as if it were a secret. He swayed where he stood.

“A good old-fashioned… nap.” His eyes fell closed. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“Wake up. Wake up!” A familiar voice echoed. 

Geralt grunted, opening his eyes with a jerk. He was laying on cold stone. The worried face of an elf hovered over him.

“Chireadan.” 

“At long last.” Geralt noticed shackles around his wrists as the elf stepped away from him, chain scraping across the floor.

“Jaskier?” Geralt groaned, sitting up and looking around. “Where are we?”

“Your bard isn’t here. Where do you think we are?” The elf was nervous, scared. He smelt like a storm. 

A shaft of light was let in by a small barred window, the rest of the small stone room was cast in shadows, dust in the corners and cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. 

“I hope your rampage was well worth it.” 

Geralt struggled to his feet. His joints ached, his head was pounding. 

“”Rampage”?” Geralt raised his eyebrows. “What did I do?”

“Where to begin? You… attacked a pawnbroker in his shop, kicking him in the delicate places.”

“Hmm.” Geralt flicked the chain in front of him, walking towards the gate. 

“You also dragged an apothecary into the street, pulled down his pants and thrashed his arse with a belt. Both are on the town council, who are voting to usurp the mayor and kick Yennefer out. Any of this ring a bell?”

“Like a faded dream.” He tested the strength of the gate bars, rattling them soundly. Whenever he thought back to the mage, the day before seemed fuzzy. He thought of her with brighter colour, her words coiling heat in his stomach.

“She had you enact revenge on her behalf. I tried to stop you, but the guards assumed I was there to abet. The sentence will be passed by the very council members you attacked. It is sure to be death.”

“I suppose that is one way of getting some rest.” Geralt sat back on the floor, leaning on a wall.

“Why on Earth would you enlist the mage’s help after my warning? It is like you thought the scorpion were prettier than a spider because of it’s lovely tail.”

“You weren’t exactly forthcoming.” Chireadan crouched in front of him. 

“I admit I could've prepared you better for Yennefer.” Geralt cocked his head to the side, holding the elf’s gaze.

“You’re under her spell aren’t you?”

“I wish I was, but no. It’s a simple issue of body chemistry.”

“You’re in love with her?” Geralt couldn't keep the dry surprise out of his voice. 

“And I think perhaps you may understand me. What I would do for the one I love.” The door creaked. A guard came in, holding a torch. “I thought it would take longer to build the scaffold.”

Geralt sighed, grunting as he got to his feet. Chireadan rose with him.

Ah, fuck.” Geralt recognised the man walking towards him.

“Ah, here you are.” The guard smiled. “Remember me?” Geralt sent a closed lip grin back. “I did not know you were a Witcher. I’ve always wanted to play with one.”

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Jaskier woke with a gasp, hands flying to his throat. He groaned, pressing his eyes, the light blinding. He sat up slowly.

“Oh! Where am I?” Through squinted eyes, he looked around. The curtains were held back on the four poster bed. The windows let in bright mid morning light. His eyes fell on the woman at the end of the bed.

She was naked from the waist up, black hair tumbling past her shoulders. 

“Whew! Um…” Jaskier thought hard. Who’s room is this? How much did he have to drink yesterday? 

He remembered Geralt. 

He remembered the beautiful golden eyes, the warm hands that never completely left him. He remembers the blood, the pain. He remembers falling asleep in Geralt’s arms. 

“Right. Good. good. Um…” He murmured to himself, watching the woman slip her arms into the sleeves of her chemise. “Uh, not to be… untoward or anything…” He chuckled, uncomfortably. “But.. did- did.. Did we… you know.. Uh, do the, uh…”

She turned to face him, crawling forwards.

“Ooh, Go- Oh no, no! Definitely did not butter that biscuit.” He scrambles off the bed, backing away quickly, his hands outstretched. “Look, I am so sorry, but I've just remembered I left my… wolf on the… stove. I-I really must be going.”

He struggled to pull his boots on, almost falling over.

“Express your deepest desires and you can be on your way.” Her voice held so much power. It sent a shiver down his spine. She was slim, her open dress flaunted the petite curves. 

Jaskier was in far too much of a hurry to appreciate her.

“Well, my deepest desires are currently satisfied, thank you so much.” He cried out as a wave of her wrist had him pinned against the wall by an invisible force. 

“How’s your throat?” She slowly stalked towards him. Her eyes seemed to glow purple.

“Uhh… “ 

“Perhaps you should try some scales.” 

“Uhh… _Toss a coin to your Witcher O valley of_ … penis!” She gripped him hard through his breeches, he was still unable to move his arms. “Oh, Gods.”

“If you want to keep all you have… “ She held the knife to his throat. “Make a damn wish.” Jaskier gasped, panting, sweat breaking out. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Geralt hit the floor with a grunt. He was hauled upright.

“What’s the difference between a Witcher and a tub of dung?” The guard brought his knee sharply into Geralt's face, sending his head snapping back. Geralt laughed.

“Ah, I know that one.” He was brought to his feet. Blows landing in his kidneys, a solid smack in his jaw sent him thumping into the bars. 

“What is repulsive, deviant…” The guard gathered up the chains attached to the Witcher. “And cannot smell?” He yanked Geralt forward. “A Witcher without a nose.” Striking Geralt so hard he fell to his knees groaning.

“Last words, Witcher. Make them good.”

“I want you to burst, you son of a whore!” Geralt sat back on his knees, hair free from it’s tie and sticking to his face. 

Wind whistled round the cell. The guard groaned, gasping for air. Geralt heard a sickening squelch behind him. The whispering winds faded. 

As he turned round, Chireadan had brains on the side of his face and shoulder, looking shaken. 

“You’re the one with the wishes.” 

Geralt pulled up his sleeve, revealing two neat lines cut across his veins. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“Make your wish. Do it now!” Her voice seemed to echo, booming with power.

Jaskier hit the floor hard, yelling out. “I don’t- I don’t know! I... “ He floundered waving his hands. His eyes caught on the golden of the candle flames. “I wish very badly for Geralt to take me from this place forever!” 

She begins to chant. 

“ _Open the gates and be bound to me_

_I call forth the power of the Gods_

_Open the gates and be bound to me_

_I call upon all Laws of Chaos_

_You will serve me_ “

The wind blew into the room, the candle flames grew. Jaskier watched shocked in her shadow, a figure curling up, arms hanging by its side, mouth unhinged. 

The Djinn roared. 

Jaskier scrambled out of the room, hesitating in the doorway before going. He rushed out of the building, tripping over his own feet. 

He crashed into Geralt, falling into his chest.

“Oh, Geralt. Thank the Gods. I might live to see another day. We need to go.” Geralt steadied him. 

“Jaskier, you're okay.” He couldn't keep the warm smile off his face. 

“Oh, I'm glad to hear you give a monkey’s about it.” Forget-me-not blue eyes were wide, his lip curling.

“Lets not jump to conclusions. What happened?”

“Well, I was having a rather lovely dream which then turned into a nightmare. There were naked women in both parts. The first one was loving, tender, very generous. The second, significantly more terrifying.” Geralt could hear his pulse, the panicked lie. 

“Hmm. Tell me about the second one.”

“Well, black hair, devilish eyes, was painting an amphora on her abdomen. You know, the usual.” Geralt stopped, Jaskier turning to look at him. 

“She wants to be the vessel.”

“What, you know this woman? Of course you know this woman.”

“She wants to become more powerful. But she’ll die.”

“Well, lets pray for her on our way out of town.” Jaskier bent at the hip to get in Geralt's eye line as he looked back at the building. Not paying him any attention, Geralt started towards the house.

“Oh..” Jaskier chased after Geralt. “Are you perhaps short of a marble?” Jaskier yelled, extending his arms. The elf caught up with them, grabbing Geralt's arm.

“You have to go in there, don’t you? I recognise the look. I know how you feel.”

Geralt took his arm out of Chireadan’s grasp.

“You’re making me uncomfortable.”

“Oh. No, no, no, no, no. Do not tell me that this is finally the moment you decided to actually care about someone other than yourself?” Jaskier pushed against Geralt's chest. A bitter scent cut through his usual sweetness. “Leave the very sexy but insane witch to her inevitable demise! Please, Geralt.” He lowered his voice, bringing one hand to rest against the Witcher's cheek. 

“She saved your life, Jaskier. I can’t let her die.”

Geralt went into the building, the pull of the thought of Yennefer consuming his mind. He raced to the attic room, finding the mage on her back, her chemise bunched at her waist, a hand extended in warning. 

“Don't! I’m here to help you.”

“I don't need your help.” She strained, dropping her hand. “Your debt is paid. Go away, Geralt.”

He stepped forward into the room.

“You seem to want to meet your end.” She smiled at him, her eyes damp.

“As do you.” 

“The Djinn isn’t weakening.” Her spine cracked as he gasped. “Your bard expressed his last wish, but it’s getting stronger” She groaned. “Go!”

“That’s because I'm the one with the wishes.” 

“You? You’re the Djinn’s master?”

The Djinn growled, echoing in the room. 

“Yeah.”

“Well what are you waiting for?” Yennefer screamed.”Make your wishes!”

“Becoming the vessel for the Djinn will have you lose control, not gain it! Can't you see what this is doing to you?”

“True transformation is painful.”

“Release the Djinn! I’ll give you my last wish!”

“You heroic protector… noble dog, permitting my success so long as you command it yourself. Fuck off!” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she screamed. “I’ll do this myself.”

“Dammit, Yennefer! Tell me what you want!”

“I want everything!” She lashed out, her magic forcing Geralt into the wall. Her screaming echoed with the wind. Geralt could hear the brick crumbling.

“Make your wish! You can have anything you want! You can choose not to be a Witcher.” Her eyes turn red, the voice escaping her lips distorted and foreign. “What do you desire? Immortality? Riches? Fame? Power? Affections? “

He could see forget-me-not blue as the wind whipped round them. Yennefer screamed. Her body could not contain the Djinn any longer.

“ _I wish for the safety of my friends and in return you too shall be safe_.”He whispered. 

The wizard's seal turned to ash, blowing away with the wind. Yennefer fell forward on her hands, gasping. Geralt checked his arm hurriedly, to make sure the wish worked. 

“The Djinn...wha- where did it go?” Geralt heard the ceiling crack before she did. 

The middle beam splintered. 

He could survive a three story fall, the open window was just next to him. He would maybe break his shoulder in landing, but he could do it.

His eyes met Yennefer’s across the room. The fear assaulted him, stinging his nose as she panicked. The fizz of lilac was on the air. Geralt flung himself forward, arms coming around her. 

She screamed. 

He landed on soft cushions. His breath came in pants. The mage landed heavily beside him, her dark hair covering her face.

“Yennefer?” Geralt brought his knees underneath him, gently brushing her hair away from her face. “Yennefer.” He said her name more firmly “It’s me… Geralt. Wake up.” 

Her eyes fluttered open. She sat up quickly, shoving him away.

“I know who you are. What did you do? You stopped me, didn’t you?” She sounded shaken. “I nearly had it.”

“You had shit all. I saved your life!”

“And I saved yours! You let the Djinn escape. Who knows what havoc it’ll wreak now that it has no vessel at all?” The smell of lilac tingled his nose, mixing with the anger coming off the mage in waves.

“No more havoc than you. Djinn’s are only dark creatures when held captive.” She lent closer to him, teeth bared.

“How can you be so sure?” Geralt watched her face, the way her mouth curled, the bow of her full lips. 

“When did you last feel happy when you felt trapped? And if you were going to portal us to safety, you could’ve taken us out of this shit town!”

“A fine critique if you could make a portal yourself. It wasn’t a shit town, it was fine till you and your bleeding bard came along.” Geralt went to get up.

“Jaskier.”

“Oh, no- we are not finished, Geralt. I had a plan!” Yennefer grabbed his arm, her eyes dangerous. Geralt ignored the way her scent fizzed.

“And that was going swimmingly.”

“It was! Like a drowning fish.” They stared at each other. 

Yennefer surged up to kiss him. Her hands were strong on his neck, fingers digging into his skin. She pulled him down, her tongue pressing against his lips. He crawled to lay in the v of her legs, sliding his hand down her side. She pulled away for a second, smirking up at him, before flipping them.

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


That’s how Jaskier finds them. 

His knees were dirty, from being knelt on the floor, looking at Chireadan with tears in his eyes. 

“What am I supposed to do now? It wasn’t supposed to go this way. I’m gonna write you… the best song… so that everyone remembers who you were. ” There was a lump in his throat, but it didn’t make him bleed. It still hurt the same. “What we did, everything we saw. And I will sing it for the rest of my days.”

Chireadan sank to his knees in front of Jaskier. He took his hands in his, a watery smile on his face.

“He always said I had the most wonderful singing voice.” Jaskier told him wetly.

“They’re alive.”

Jaskier looked at the house, narrowing his eyes.

“Bollocks.” He got to his feet, curling his lip at the rubble. “Geralt?” He called, marching determinedly around the building. Chireadan followed behind him, hand supportingly on his arm. 

Jaskier caught movement in one of the windows.

His mouth fell open. The Witcher was on his back, Yennefer spread across his lap. He let out a breathless chuckle. 

“Oh, they’re alive.” Jaskier’s eyes watered, feeling Chireadan’s hand on his shoulder. He swallowed hard. “They’re really alive, whoo!” 

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the rolling of Yennefer’s hips, the way Geralt’s hands were holding her. The way his eyes were closed, teeth biting his own lip. The way his own heart stuttered.

“Come on.” Chireadan took hold of him firmly, dragging him away from the window. “We’ll wait in my tent.” The elf looked vaguely nauseous. 

Jaskier took Roach’s reins, taking an apple out of one of his packs. 

“Here, my darling. Come with us, won’t you? Otherwise I’m sure your Witcher will forget about me.” He murmured to her softly. She crunched on the apple, letting him walk her away. 

“You love her?” Jaskier asked conversationally. He bumped his arm with the elf’s, grabbing his attention. 

“Yes, I have done since I laid eyes on her. She…” He wipes his face with the back of his hand. “She has a way of working man in her hands like clay.” 

Jaskier hummed encouragingly. “I feel- I feel broken.” Chireadan seemed to settle on that thought.

“She’s a bitch.” Jaskier decided out loud. Chireadan barked out loud, throwing his arm around the bard’s shoulder.

“And what has you so invested in this?” Jaskier smiled wanly. 

“I needed healing.” Chireadan tutted.

“No, I saw your Witcher-”

Jaskier chuckled bitterly. 

“Ah, see, my friend. That is where you’re wrong. You saw clear as day when I did.” The elf shook his head. 

“Yennefer-” Jaskier pulled a face. “Her magic is very strong. It’s built on lust and power and control. I saw him this morning, the Witcher thought of you. I was always told Witcher’s don’t have feelings.”

“Hm, it’s said they were burned out of them, along with the soul, in their very creation.”

“Right. But if it’s not true, if- if Geralt did have feelings towards you… I saw them, friend. I swear to you.” Jaskier patted him heartily on the back.

“It’s okay, Chireadan. You need not to console me. Are you hungry? We should eat when we get back, I'm positively famished.”

They made it to Chireadan’s house in the early evening. It's a one story building, cobblestone walls and ivy growing up the door. Jaskier smiles, securing Roach under a wide tree.

“Lovely little house.” He trailed his fingers over the display cabinet in the hall. 

“You’re too kind. Leave the door ajar, your Witcher can join us later.”

The elf poured him a drink, settling on a stool. He wiped at his face with a damn cloth, dried blood flaking away. Jaskier rested his lute beside him as he took a seat across from him.

“Do you play?” 

“My friend, I played for Lady Pavetta at her engagement ball!” Chireadan waved his hand, a grin splitting his face. 

Jaskier strummed a soft ballad as they talked, a sweet, cheap wine smoothing the silences.

“Jaskier!”

“Ah, it seems my dear Wolf has caught up.” Jaskier giggled. Geralt came through the door, glowering. 

“You stole my horse.”

“Yes, well. While I thought you dead, you were busy riding something else.” The cheap shot left his lips before he properly thought about it. He took a long drink as Geralt stood in the doorway. 

“Get inside before you let the bats in.” Chireadan chastised, pouring three bowls of soup from the fire pit. 

They drink from the bowls, Chireadan telling them how he learnt to carve as a young child, only turning to medicine when his family moved to Rinde. Jaskier hummed, asking a few questions. 

“Thank you for all your kindness, Chireadan. But we can’t possibly impose for any longer.” Geralt puts his bowl down, nodding to Jaskier.

“Oh, no! Where are you to go at this hour? After all you’ve endured today, the least you deserve is a bed to sleep in.” Jaskier put his hand on Geralt’s arm, pulling him to sit back down.

They talked for a little more, Jaskier fishing out an old deck of cards, before Chireadan showed them to the guest room. Jaskier thanked him, wishing him a goodnight. He grinned as the elf went to his own room. Shutting their door, Jaskier spun around.

“You had a fun afternoon, it seems.” Jaskier poked Geralt in the chest. The Witcher didn’t even bat an eyelid at his change of tone. He just stared, eyes golden and beautiful. 

“Seriously, Geralt? Not even an “I’m sorry I made you think I was dead while I was fucking the sexy mage that I saved the life of” apology?”

“Hmm.” An indescribable emotion flashed across Geralt’s face, barely there. 

“Really? That’s it? I thought- I- when I left for Oxenfurt, I thought we had something. Was it something? Could it have been? Geralt, you leave me so many questions about where I stand and I’m getting tired of it. Maybe you’d rather have the sorceress follow you around and sing you praise.” He narrowed his eyes into a glare. 

The image of Yennefer being the one to wash Geralt's hair, buckle his armour, made his throat itch. “You better think of something decent to say, you save my life, thank you for that by the way, only to make it hell?”

“Jaskier…” Geralt sighed, taking the bard’s hand off his chest. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.” His jaw is tight, as if the words are painful to get out. 

“And what about the insanely sexy mage you jumped the bones of at the first chance you got?” Geralt growled low, his lips pressing in a thin line.

“She… had a many few attraction spells at hand. I… it was just attraction.” the Witcher searched for words, bringing Jaskier into his space to rest his cheek on the top of then Bard’s head. “You- You’re a good companion. Even if you’re a bit indulgent with the dramatics.”

“You wouldn’t really replace me, right? Even if there was someone better.” Jaskier’s voice is uncharacteristically small as they climb into bed. Geralt pulled his shirt off, dropping it beside the bed. He rolled his eyes, opening his arms. Jaskier carefully laid his head against the Witcher’s bare chest. 

“Hush, Lark. Who else would annoy me till he can put his cold hands up my shirt? Hmm?” Jaskier huffs against his skin, breathing in the smell of his sweat. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“ _I’m weak my love, and I am wanting_

_If this is the path I must trudge_

_I’ll welcome my sentence, give you my penance_

_Gorgeous garotter, jury and judge…_

_Lovely garotter…_

_Gorgeous garro--_

Which one do you prefer? “Lovely”? “Gorgeous?” "

Jaskier called to the men a few feet away. They were ignoring him, dressed in dusty beige tunics. He had his notebook balanced on his knee, fingers dancing on the lute. “Is the whole metaphor landing, or is too cerebral?”

“It’s been an hour. Let’s get on before the beast gets hungry again.” The first man was impatient, eyeing up the chestnut mare.

“But we made a deal.”

“We made a deal with a livin’ Witcher. No sense in hangin’ ‘round to pay a dead one.”

“Gorgeous garro-- Bollocks! Oi! No. No, no, no , no! No!” Jaskier dropped his book and charcoal as he got up, his arms outstretched. “Aah! You stop- stop that, or I- I’ll…” 

“Or you’ll what? Sing us to death?” The man sneered, throwing one of Geralt’s bags over his shoulder.

“Perhaps you did not hear the man.” Jaskier jumped, a shorter man coming up beside him. 

He wore a scaled waist coat, a warm long sleeved tunic beneath it. His face was tanned and ruddy, a trimmed beard making his eyes seem almost black.

“Yeah! Perhaps you didn’t… di- sorry, who are you?” Jaskier rested his hand on his hip. Two women flanked his saviour, dark, beautiful, and strong.

“Move along, old man” One of the men told him.

“Do as the bard asks or I'll be forced to draw my weapons.”

“What weapons?” The man tilted his head. ”I see no steel ‘ere.” He shoved the man. 

One of the women caught him, the other kicking the knee of the vagrant. He fell with a cry, her hands taking hold of his neck and snapping it. 

“Oh! Whoa okay, oh.” He puts his hand up to shield his eyes, the other clutching his chest. 

“Steel won’t be necessary.” One of the women tells the body, her voice beautifully smooth. 

The head of a netch lands on the ground with a thump. Geralt carefully climbed down the side of the mountain, stopping when he saw the other vagrant holding his bags.

“I believe those are mine.” The man drops the packs, throwing Geralt his bag of coin. 

“Geralt, they- With the- This woman just killed a man with her bare hands for trying to steal your horse.” Jaskier’s voice shook as he pointed. 

“Maybe she’ll make a better travel companion, then.” He tipped his head, as if he’s actually considering it. Jaskier’s stomach dropped but he ignored it. 

“Uh, I’m sorry, who are you, exactly?” He turns to the man and his gorgeous companions. 

“I am Borch Three Jackdaws. These are my companions, Téa and Véa.” The dark skinned women stood proudly at his back. “I’ve been looking for you, Geralt of Rivia. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Jaskier knew he had lost as soon as Yennefer had entered the tavern. 

“Oh no,” Jaskier forced a laugh, looking to Geralt with wide eyes. “Thank you so much. Thank you for the wine and the pies, it really has been lovely. But as the man said, we really can’t be involved.”

Geralt seemed to lose the bustling tavern, ignoring Jaskier’s hand on his thigh. They stared at each other for a painfully long moment. Yennefer sat at a table across the room, on the arm of a knight, but she held the Witcher's gaze.

“I’m in.”

“The hunt begins at sunrise.” 

Jaskier swallowed, painfully. He took his hand away, draining his goblet. He could have cried at the way Geralt’s eyes followed the mage as she went up to the rooms, the knight like a silver dog at her heels. Drool included.

“Well, this has been rather pleasant, but I best be off to bed. Enjoy your night, won’t you?” Jaskier smiled brightly at Borch, patting Geralt’s back. “Will you be long?” 

“Hmm.” Geralt didn’t look at him. Jaskier forced a chuckle. 

“Alright, well, I’ll see you all at dawn.” He slung his lute over his shoulder, feeling his side for his notebook and headed up the stairs. The knight stood in one of the first doorways, Yennefer’s hand in his own. 

“You sure you’re comfortable on your own?” He was whispering, his head bowed close to hers. 

“I’ll be sure to find company if I decide otherwise.” She smiled, tracing his lips with her finger. “Go.” The knight nodded, going into the opposite room with a blush. 

Yennefer’s eyes found him. He tried to arrange his face into a more upbeat persona, but the mage was too quick.

“Does it pain you? To see him so…absorbed.” 

“Don’t do this.” Jaskier near whispered, his eyes stinging. “You have taken so much from me yet somehow it’s nothing. It will never be anything. Not anymore.” 

Her eyes were soft as he spoke. 

“It was never my intention, you must know.”

Jaskier laughed, feeling a tear spill from his eye.

“Oh, deary me. I must have had more wine than I thought. Have a good night, won’t you-”

Yennefer held his arm as he tried to move past her. 

“I truly meant you no ill will, Jaskier.” He shook his head mirthlessly. “We just seem to be drawn to each other.” 

Jaskier thought to the last 17 years of his life, how somehow every time they parted ways, within 4 months they were in the same village. On the same road. At the same ball. Every ridiculous meeting place he could think of, Geralt had found him there. 

“What you two do together is no concern of mine.” He tried for a light tone but his lip shook. 

“He does care for you.” Her hand stroked at his arm, almost as if she wanted to comfort him. Jaskier felt heat build in his chest, eyes narrowing. He pulled his arm away as if she burned him.

“That makes it worse, then.” Yennefer goes to say more, he is sure of it, but he pulls out of her grip and makes his way to his room. The room he shares with Geralt, because, well, that’s how it’s always been.

There were two beds, Geralt’s equipment resting on one of them. Shucking out of his clothes, Jaskier climbs into the other bed, suddenly very tired. 

It felt wrong, cold. His arms stretched too far out and the pillow didn’t hold his head right. 

Sleep didn’t come easy.

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Geralt had woken on his back, a chill dancing over his bare skin. 

Yennefer was turned away, not touching him. He thought about last night, how his head swirled with lilac, his chest fizzing. She had been reluctant to lay her hands on him at first, always so distant. 

He pulled on his shirt and breeches. Her eyes were partially open, watching him leave. Geralt made his way to Jaskier’s room. 

The bard was asleep on his side, curled around one of the pillows. His mouth was open, hair tousled. Geralt hummed softly, crouching beside the bed. He reached out, brushing the bard’s hair away from his eyes. Jaskier’s eyes scrunched a little, letting out a small whine when Geralt's fingers traced over his cheek. Swallowing, Geralt let himself smile.

He shook him awake. 

“Come on, Lark.” 

Jaskier grumbles, letting Geralt pull him out of bed, dressing quickly. Out of habit, he batted Geralt's hands away as he pulled on his armour and started to buckle his armour. 

“I didn’t hear you come in last night.” He said mildly. Geralt tensed under his armour. As Jaskier combed his fingers through the long white strands, he hums softly. “Did you come back? Last night?” He can see Geralt's eyes close. 

“Where else would I have been?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. The stables? You are quite attached to lovely Roach.” Geralt raised an eyebrow as Jaskier stood in front of him, checking his daggers. 

“She is my best friend.” Geralt agreed with a hum.

“Actually, no, but whatever it takes to sleep at night. But I was thinking- and this is just a thought- maybe you were drawn to somebody else's room. But who’s, I wonder.” 

“Jaskier, that’s enough.” Geralt's voice was hard, edging on anger. The bard pursed his lips, patting Geralt's chest. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

“How is it that I’ve walked this Earth for decades without coming across a single Witcher, and then the first one I meet, I can’t get rid of?” 

“I’d say something strange was afoot, but then again, Witchers are bound to bump into monsters eventually. “ Jaskier unconsciously took Geralt’s arm. He continued smoothing his hand down Roach’s nose. Yennefer laughed

“Jaskier.”

“Yennefer.”

“The crow’s feet are new.”

“Yeah, well, your jokes are… old.” Jaskier couldn’t stop his lip from curling as Geralt didn’t bat an eyelid. He shouldered his lute, walking towards where Borch and the Reavers stood. 

He heard Roach headbutt the Witcher, he hoped it was hard.

The walk up the mountain hurt Jaskier’s feet. Geralt had loaded their packs onto one shoulder, taking hold of the bard with the other arm, least he fell behind. Borch walked just behind them, jerking his head in Jaskier’s direction. 

“Hmm.” Geralt pushed Jaskier in front of him, falling into step with Borch. He could hear the bard grumble, but walked further.

“You look at her as if you’ll blink and never see her again. You’re in love with her.” 

“Or- the danger here isn’t the dragon.”

“That’s why I brought you along, Geralt of Rivia. Nothing scares you.”

“Huh.”

“But tell me, if you hold the mage so dear, why are you dragging that bard around by the heart?”

“Hmm.” Geralt turned to look at him, brow furrowing. “Jaskier. He’s just…” 

“Just...? A bard? A friend? He sings his adoration of you for a living, and you think he doesn’t love you?” 

“He doesn’t.” Geralt snarls. Borch stared, unimpressed.

“You held his arm when he took a piss.” 

“He’d get himself lost.”

“You walked him along this trail because he complained once about twisting his ankle.”

“He would have only broken it left alone.”

“You’re getting terribly defensive.” Borch touched Geralt’s arm gently. “The way you look at that woman hurts him. Can’t you tell?” 

And he can. He smells the bitterness wash over Jaskier every time his eyes fall on Yennefer. He reeked of pain that morning.

“Geralt!” Borch looked as if he wanted to talk more but Jaskier had stopped walking. “Geralt, I need a drink.” The older man smirked at the Witcher. 

Geralt clenched his jaw at the way Jaskier dragged out his name. The bard made grabby hands towards him, but no attempt to get the waterskin himself.

“Did you want me to pour it down your throat for you, as well?” it was hard to keep the growl out of his voice. Jaskier blinked. 

“If you wouldn’t mind.” The corner of his mouth twitched. 

“Hmm.” Geralt handed him the waterskin, walking past. Jaskier fell to the back of their march, but Geralt could hear him chatter aimlessly. 

“Hey, what’s that?” he stopped at the side of the path, pointing. 

“Shut up, and move.” One of the dwarves, Zoltan, called. “Stupid, fucking bard.” He grumbled to the others as they passed the Witcher. 

“No, I- If I just…” Geralt sighed, turning to watch him stumble into the thicket. “There’s something back here. It sort of looks like a faun.” 

“Jaskier…” 

He could see the bard take a step back, his name falling from his lips. 

“Run away, run away. Geralt! It’s one of your… friends again.” Jaskier ducked behind Geralt, his arm coming up his side to hold his shoulder. The Reavers gave an annoyed sigh, murmuring behind them.

The creature followed him onto the path, growling. Its big eyes scoured the party. Geralt sighed, it was all skin and bones. 

“What in the name of Bloemenmagde is that?” Yarden sounded astonished.

“It’s a Hirikka. It’s probably starving. Sheath your weapons.”

The knight, Eyck of Denesle surged forward, swinging his sword in a wide arch. 

He slices the creature's arm off, before beheading it. Jaskier gasped in Geralt's ear, his hold tightening. Eyck slashes at its fallen body, punctuating each one with a yell.

Geralt turned his head to Yennefer. She tutted, looking unimpressed at the bard hanging off him with a pointed gaze. 

“Sir Eyck!” She goes to the knight, taking him by the arm and stroking his face, “You could have been killed.”

“If we fed it, it would have gone away.” He offered an arm to the dwarf that Eyck had knocked down in his haste.

“Thanks. That knight may be a fucking dumbbell but I’ll be damned if that dragon won’t stand a chance.”

“That creature was innocent wasn’t it?” The bard murmured softly. 

“And harmless.” 

Jaskier stayed almost glued to Geralt's side for the rest of the afternoon. He sat at Geralt’s side when they made camp, knocking his knee into Geralt’s. The bard always seemed to find an excuse to touch him. 

He thought for a moment, what it would be like if Yennefer so carelessly touched him. Would his skin feel on fire like it does whenever Jaskier brushed against him? He clenched his jaw at the idea of replacing the bard, shaking it from his mind. Jaskier was fine. Everything with the bard, whilst loud and annoying, was simple. 

Even waking up had been better with Jaskier in his bed, warm and soft against his side. He found himself leaning, just slightly into the bard's space. He knew Yennefer noticed, the way she stared at him across the campfire.

Jaskier noticed it too, a sweet touch of snowberries mingled with his scent. 

“Come on then, bard. Play us something.” Barclay grinned at him. Jaskier wet his lips, looking at Geralt. 

“Oh… I don’t know…” Geralt could see in the shake of his hands that Jaskier was nervous. He took the lute from the bard’s back, slipping it out of the case. “Anything in particular spring to mind?” He smiled gratefully at Geralt.

“Sing about your Witcher.” Yennefer tipped her head at Jaskier, Geralt recognised the challenge in her eyes. He watches Jaskier swallow.

“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard, should it?” He strummed his lute a couple of times, winking at Geralt.

“Not that infernal song.” Geralt smacked his arm.

“Ow, okay!” He laughed, visibly relaxing now he was under the Witcher’s gaze.

“ _Have you ever fought with a wild wolf_

_Scraped his claws ‘gainst your skin_

_Have you ever ran with a wild wolf_

_Seen his eyes shine brighter than the moon_

_Have you ever danced with a wild wolf_

_Felt his pelt and the warmth within…”_

He lent against Geralt with a wink.

_“Have you ever laid with a wild wolf_

_Your throat in his jaws_

_Pinned down by his paws_

_Living proof of all that is pure?”_

This song was quick and repetitive, but the simple lyrics let him focus on the intricate purrs of the lute. His tongue poked out as he concentrated on the last bit, twisting his wrist uncomfortably to play the chord. 

Jaskier flushed at the claps of the dwarves, the hum that rumbled in Geralt’s chest made him chuckle. 

“Pure?” Yennefer asks. Geralt looks away uncomfortably. 

“Yes.” Jaskier jutted his chin out. “Pure.” She chuckled, rising from her seat.

“I’ll take my leave. Goodnight.” 

The dwarves eventually retire as well, patting Jaskier's back. 

“Aren’t you tired, Geralt?” 

“Hmm. No, I think I’ll just meditate here.” Jaskier sighed, rubbing his hands together. 

“Okay.” He hummed. Sliding off the log, he sat back against Geralt’s legs, stretching his own towards the fire. Geralt sighed, pulling the blanket out of his pack. He draped it over Jaskier's chest, easing to sit behind him. 

The bard fell asleep with his lute in his arms and nose pressed against the Witcher’s throat. Geralt dipped his head to breathe in the sweet lemongrass and contentment washing the bard. 

  
  


\-----------------------------------------------------------------=

  
  


“Has anyone seen my escort?” Yennefer looked around. Eyck’s armour was piled where he had left it. Geralt shrugged, tearing his bread in half with his teeth. He handed one piece to Jaskier. 

Yarden shouted from just outside the camp. 

“Ah, bollocks!”

Yennefer looked to the Witcher, her purple eyes hard. They headed over to the edge of the hillside. Looking over the edge, the fallen form of Sir Eyck laid ashen grey on the floor. Geralt could smell the unease on the mage but her expression did not change. Jaskier was softer, his fingers slipping around Geralt’s wrist.

“Who slits a man’s throat while he’s relieving his bowels? Is nothing sacred anymore?” 

“Fuck.” Yennefer hissed under her breath, turning away. 

They broke camp quickly, Geralt helping the dwarves pack away their tents. Jaskier had his head bent, talking quietly with Borch, Geralt's enhanced hearing couldn't make out all of what he said as tent poles clattered and Yarden swore. 

He watched Jaskier smile gratefully, Borch taking both the bard’s hands in his own. 

“ _Watch out for yourself. A wounded wolf will lash out at the one he loves if he thinks it will stop the pain._ ” 

Jaskier laughed, shaking their hands. 

“Witcher! You fall asleep or somethin?” Yarden knocks his shoulder. 

“Hmm.” He clenched his teeth, rolling up the canvas and holding it still so the dwarf could loop the rope around it. 

Jaskier rushed to catch up with him as they started walking the trail. Naturally, the bard was the reason they had fallen behind the Reavers. 

Yennefer was in the front of their half, Geralt holding Jaskier’s arm tightly in case he decided to slip down the hill again. 

Geralt had wiped the bard’s hands with a damp cloth, growling at him to “ _hold onto me and don’t fucking let go. What use is a Lark with a broken neck_.” Jaskier had laughed, patting Geralt's chest.

“We’re halfway to the dragon’s lair, but it's getting dangerous. We cannot continue like this.” Téa grimaces as they fall to a stop.

“The warrior woman is right. Someone killed that self righteous fud, and it wasn’t any of us. Somebody’s not playing fair. Our people used to mine these mountains. We know a shortcut that’ll cut half a day off our journey. Let the reavers take the long way round. We’ll nab the treasure before they even set foot in the cave. We’ll watch each other’s backs until we reach the next peak, then it’s every man for himself. What say ye?”

“Lets go.” Borch smiled. 

“Go on, I’ll catch up.” The Witcher told Jaskier softly, watching Yennefer walk away from the group. She walked quickly, her fur coat wrapped tight around her. He forced himself to walk away from Jaskier, lemongrass becoming bitter. 

He jogged up the hill to catch up with the mage. 

“Did you kill Eyck?” 

“Kill him? That’s rather pedestrian. And you're the one who’s been staring daggers at him since we arrived. It was the reavers. That bastard Boholt killed my escort before he could accomplish the one damn task I actually needed him for.”

“And what was that?” She ignored him. “Yen!” she turned to look at him. “What are you really doing here?”

“I’m here for the dragon. There are certain healing properties it’s rumoured to possess.”

“I thought your transformation healed all parts of you?”

“At the cost of losing others, yes.” She nodded, coldness bleeding into her eyes. 

“Yennefer… Do not tell me you’ve travelled all this way for made-up fertility cures using fresh dragon hearts?” Geralt’s lip curled in disbelief.

“They're not made up!”

“They are. And seriously? You, a mother?”

“Do you think I'd make a bad one?”

“Definitely.” She turns away from him, wrapping her arms around herself. “Yen… a child? What could you possibly want from a child?”

“They took my choice. I want it back. Not that I'd expect you to understand.” She smiled painfully.

“I didn’t choose to become a Witcher.” He steps carefully towards her. “Listen… the people who made us, they made us sterile for a lot of reasons. One of the kinder ones is because this life isn’t suited to a child. What? You were going to summon chaos on king’s orders in between feeding and naps?”

“Do not patronise me!”

“I'm not! I've thought about this. Often. And I'd rather use my Child Surprise as Bruxa bait than subject it to this life!” Geralt growled in exasperation.

“What did you just say?” Her voice was hard. He squeezed his eyes shut with a heavy sigh.

“Uh.. ah, fuck!”

“You have a Child Surprise?” She let out a hollow laugh. “Isn’t that rich? You lecture me on made-up cures for having a child, meanwhile you cheat destiny to steal one.”

“Every time I'm near you, I say more in five minutes than I've said in weeks. And I always regret it.” He sighed, his chest aching. “The dwarves… they’re leading us to a shorter path. Come along.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You don't always have to. Come with me.” 

“No.” Yennefer looked at him with a strange look in her eyes. “I will walk the shorter path that brings me to my goal, but I am not with you. You already have a companion to take care of.” 

Geralt growled under his breath. Yennefer laughed. 

“Stop that. You know how much he needs you. And I? I don’t need you, Geralt.” He wants to protest. 

“Oh, come now. Tell me a time where your bard didn’t cling to you. The last night we spent together, you remember?” Geralt grunted as they walked back to the group. “We spoke a little.”

He turned to her, his eyes narrowing. 

“What did you-” She laughs out loud.

“Oh, those guard dog instincts. How has such a plain bard tamed the White Wolf of Rivia?” He snarled. “No, very true, he is far from plain.” She hummed in thought. 

They found their group waiting by a gap in the mountain face. Borch calls to them as they approach. 

“We feared you’d walk right past.” Geralt nodded, returning his smile. Jaskier’s face held a scowl, he wouldn't meet his eyes. There was a scratch on his cheek, dried blood sticking to his skin. 

Alarmed, he took hold of Jaskier’s face. 

“What happened?” Jaskier made an embarrassed noise of protest as Borch laughed. 

“Damn fool tripped into a bush.” 

“I thought we agreed you pushed me.”

“Hmm, when the rest of us were 10 foot away? You’re right, we pushed the bard of a Witcher into a thorn bush.” Borch laughed, clapping his hands.

He looked up at Geralt. His lips pursed into a pout in Geralt’s grip. 

“You believe me, right?” Geralt huffed a laugh, releasing the bard. 

“Yes, they’re all that stupid.” He raised an eyebrow, feeling Yennefer’s gaze on his back. 

“Come on, through here.” Yarden led the way. “Mind the scree fallin’, hear me?” He shouted back as they walked, one by one. Geralt had Yennefer and Jaskier in front of him, Borch and his warriors behind him.

“We’re here.” 

Jaskier walked forward, gulping at the drop.

“Yeah, you’re right, this is a short cut… to death.”

“We should turn back.” Geralt said from near the back. 

“No! We’re very close.” Borch said firmly, leaving no room for argument. For a person with sense maybe.

“How can you possibly know that?” Jaskier questioned, his voice high.

“It's a perfectly fine route.” Yarden protested, waving his hands.

“For a dwarf.” Jaskier countered.

“Stifle your mewlin’. You’ll manage. As long as you don’t look down.” He laughed, punching Jaskier playfully in the stomach. He groaned, the unease spilling off him, making Geralt's nose itch. 

“See ya on the other side!” Yarden called, the dwarves filing along the wooden ledge.

“Yeah, yeah, yes. Uh…” He looked to Geralt. Yennefer stood staring at him, her arms folded. “Ladies first?” She shoved his shoulder, pushing him into action. “Oh, Gods.” 

Geralt looked over the ledge, listening to Jaskier mumble to himself. Jaskier's foot slips. Geralt immediately regretted letting Yennefer walk in front of him. “Oh, fuck! Oh, that is not a good sign. That is not a good sign!” 

“Jaskier!” Geralt growled. “Shut up and move.” The wood creaked as Borch followed him onto the ledge. 

They covered maybe 15ft at a slow pace, Yennefer glancing back at him, muttering “Does he ever shut his mouth?” Geralt clenched his teeth, shaking his head.

Behind him, he heard the splinter of wood. The board gave way under Borch’s feet, the chain snapping off the mountain side as they clung to it. Téa and Véa grunting as they hit into the mountain. 

Geralt grabbed hold of the chain, straining to balance on the creaking ledge. 

“Okay…” He muttered under his breath. Borch was laid on the board, the wood threatening to break away any second. He could hear Jaskier scream his name as Yennefer came closer to him. “Get back!” He yelled.

“Sir Witcher, you will save us yet. But first you must let me go.” Borch spoke calmly. Geralt could smell salt in the air. 

“No.” He growled as the board under his feet groaned and dipped under his foot. Jaskier said his name again, quieter, a plea. 

He grunted, struggling to hold the chains. 

“Geralt! The plank won’t hold!” Yennefer called her warning, moving off the plank herself. He could see Jaskier’s hand on her back, watery blue eyes staring at him. 

“Thank you.” Borch smiled at him, kind face open and honest. He loosened his grip on the chains, sliding a little before letting go completely.

“No!” Geralt panted, watching Borch fall into the clouds below, his arms outstretched. He locked eyes with Véa, her beautiful gaze scared. He fleetingly extends his arm.

She lets go. Her sister’s arms wrapped around her, falling together after Borch. 

Geralt slumped. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing steadily. 

“Put your hand on him.” He heard Jaskier in a hushed whisper. “Don’t give me that look, he needs something.” Geralt exhaled, knowing Yennefer was always hesitant to touch the Witcher. “I can’t fucking reach him.” Jaskier hissed through his teeth, he could smell his anger. 

Yennefer’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder. 

“We’re falling behind.” She told him softly. 

“Come on, Wolf. Not much further now.“ Geralt looked up at them, Yennefer had her features schooled into a small smile. 

He pulled himself to standing, nodding to the bard to start moving. He had tear marks through the dirt on his cheeks. 

The dwarves were setting up camp not too far where the mountainside trail brought them out. Jaskier walked over to them, murmuring quietly. Geralt felt a little hollow as he sat on the edge of the mountain. He took a deep breath, feeling the wind pick up as the sun set. 

He closed his eyes for a long moment. Geralt didn’t need to open his eyes as he heard soft footsteps approach him. He knew they were Jaskier’s. 

If it was Yennefer behind him, he would have turned. The day he trusted her thoughtlessly would be the day he died, he thought with a small smile.

Jaskier seemed to wrap him in lemongrass, coming to sit beside him. He didn’t touch him.

“You did your best.” His voice was soft.”There was nothing else you could have done. Look, why don’t we leave tomorrow? That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a… worthy travel companion.”

“Hmm.” Geralt opened his eyes, watching the sun sink behind the mountains. 

“We could head to the coast. Get away for a while. Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it?” He could hear the forced smile in his voice. “Life is too short. Do what pleases you… while you can.”

“Composing your next song?”

“No, I'm just, uh… just trying to work out what pleases me.” Geralt reached out, taking the bard's arm in his. “Borch did tell me that, actually.” He chuckled quietly, shuffling closer to press his thigh against Geralt's. 

Neither moved for several long moments, Geralt took in each breath, holding it, letting go slowly. There was an ache in his stomach that seemed to dull after every gulp of lemongrass.

They settled around the fire, full from their dinners. Yarden poured out each of then a cup of ale. He felt Jaskier shake a little against him as they raised their cups. 

“To Borch. Téa. Véa.” 

They drank deeply. 

“Sing somethin’, bard? Somethin’ nice?” Yarden had a soft look on his face, not suiting his course mannerisms. Geralt clapped a hand to his shoulder, following Yennefer to her tent.

It was spacious and clean, a large bed in the centre. He hummed looking around. 

“Do you like it?” She smiled, laying her hand on his chest. She reached up to kiss him, but he held her arms. “Is this not what you came for?” 

“I came for you.” He searched her face.

“I was afraid that mountain would take you from me, but now I fear it took your senses instead.” Geralt lowered his head, resting their foreheads together. 

“That scent…” He breathed in deeply. “Makes you so tempting.” He kisses her, letting the fizzy lilac fill his head. She hummed, pleased. 

“You’re not as absorbed in it as before.” She holds his face. “My magic makes you lustful.” He shook his head.

“No, you-” 

“Geralt. Whatever you feel here…” She pulls him into her by the belt. “Is my magic. It latches on to any desire you have and turns it into something I can utilise. I can tell when you think of someone else.” She says pointedly. 

“You don’t affect the others like this. Jaskier doesn’t… want you like I want you.” Yennefer laughs at his reasoning. 

“Jaskier resents me for trapping his Witcher under my thumb.” 

“He’s not the jealous type.” 

“No?” She muses, stroking down his chest. “Do you hurt? I don’t mean physical pain. They say Witcher’s can’t feel human emotion.” 

“They say whatever to justify despising my kind.”

“Do you regret it? Becoming a Witcher?” Geralt sighed.

“It’s hard to regret something you didn’t choose.”

“But if the choice had been yours. What would you have done? Become a farmer? Stableman?” They shared a quiet laugh, breathing the same air.

“Horses are good company. But if I ever dreamed of becoming something other… than what I am… it was too long ago to remember. Did you dream of being a mage?”

“I didn’t have much choice either.”

“Did you always want to become a mother?”

“I dreamed… of becoming important to someone. Someday.” Geralt hummed, closing his eyes. “Do I bore you?” 

“No, no. I just… never thought about being important to someone. It makes this life too difficult. But you’re important to me.” Yennefer shook her head, going to speak. “-no, it’s not because of the magic.”

“Yes, it is!” Her eyes were wide. “What you feel might be love but it's not love for me. It’s love I've stolen from something else and twisted it into my shape.”

“But…” Geralt searched for words, shaking a little. “... I don’t love anybody. I’ve never loved anybody until I met you.”

“You’re a stupid man if you think that’s true, Geralt of Rivia.”

“I…” Yennefer kisses him into silence. 

“I can hear your bard singing about you, I know you can too.”

“He’s not my bard.” Geralt said, kissing her again.

“There’s so much denial in you.” They shared one deep kiss, his hands wrapping around her. She pushed him away gently. “This… what you feel right now?” She tapped his chest. “Is how you feel about me.” 

Geralt smiled. She stopped smelling of fizz as the spell broke.

“You’re still important to me.” He focused on her mouth, her bare skin under his hands. He didn’t want to do anything more than just hold her. 

“And you’re important to me.” She said softly, like a secret.

He could hear the cheer of the dwarves, the smell of ale and lilac, the shiver the sound of the lute gave him. Yennefer noticed his reaction. 

“Go.” He smiled, kissing her gently and heading back to the campfire. He didn’t turn around. 

Jaskier was sitting in the same place as before, with Geralt’s blanket around his shoulders, the dwarves were lined up across the fire, arms linked, their feet moving in sync as they danced. As he sat beside Jaskier, the bard smiled brightly at him.

“The lute isn’t quite right for this song, but they don’t mind!” He giggled. The dwarves sat down, out of breath and red faced. 

Geralt laid out his bedroll as Jaskier strummed a familiar tune. 

“ _Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger…_ ” The dwarves sung it so loud, Geralt couldn't hear Jaskier. He played while they gleefully sang. 

At the end of the song, they all settled back into their own bedrolls. Geralt laid on his back, Jaskier crawling next to him. His back was to the fire, pulling the blanket up over his face. 

“How was your chat with Yennefer?” 

“Enlightening.” Jaskier lifted his head up. “Your neck can't be comfortable like that.” Geralt shuffled up a little so his bicep could settle under Jaskier’s head. 

“Oh.” Jaskier was surprised. “Thank you, dear Wolf.” He hummed, the bard’s hand laying carefully across Geralt’s waist. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“At a quick pace, we can make it back down to the Pensive Dragon before sundown.”

“What are you talking about? We’re almost to the top. I came here for a reason Geralt. I’m not leaving till I've killed that dragon.”

“Yen, no! What will it solve?”

“It will solve everything.” She lent to pick up her bag but paused. “Wait… where are those fucking dwarfs?” She pointed at Jaskier’s still sleeping form, muttering something in Elder before taking off.

“Yen!” Geralt raced after her up the mountain. 

The dwarfs were running up the mountain. She shouted in Elder, freezing them in place. Geralt ran to catch up, seeing her disappear into the cave. 

“Stop!” He saw the warriors, their silver blades drawn defensively. “How?” 

“He’s dead.” Yennefer stared hard at the green dragon. Véa shook her head, baring her teeth.

“ _She’s_ dead.” 

A roar came from above them. A golden dragon climbed down from the hole in the cave roof, its claws sharp on the rocks. As it settled on the ground, dust flew up. Geralt blinked the dust out of his eyes. 

“Sir Witcher and the sorceress. Hello again.” Borch’s voice echos, unmistakably his.

“Impossible. “

Téa spoke.

“When the dragoness was injured, her cry was heard by Villentretenmerth. But the egg could not be moved. Or the life inside it would die.”

“That’s why the dragon attacked.” Geralt could hear the heartbeat inside the egg.

“She was protecting her baby.”

“And died by its side.” Téa confirmed.

“We heard about the king's hunt, and realised we had to keep our enemies close.” Véa continued.

“So I came to find you, the white haired Witcher, the knight who was taught to save dragons instead of killing them.”

Geralt heard low growling from behind him. 

“Looks like we get to fuck up the whole family.” Boholt lips curled in a sneer as the Reavers surrounded them. “Slay that dragon!” 

Geralt drew his sword as one Reaver swung at him. He yelled, knocking him to the ground. 

“Kill them!” Boholt screamed, as the others yelled out, charging, their weapons drawn. 

“Boholt’s mine.” Yennefer commanded. He winced internally for the man, trusting Yennefer to handle it. 

They all seem to rush at him, no coordination as a group, he elbows one in the chest, sword cutting into the abdomen of another. He turned as a reaver fell, swinging in a close circle, bringing the blade across the knees of another opponent. 

He knocks them away easily, throwing _Aard_ to his left, cutting down a reaver to his right. The warriors flank him, their swords sharp and long as they seemed to dance across the cave. 

Yennefer fills the air with fizzing lilac, Boholt slowing as he swung his axe down. Her dagger slits his throat. 

“ _Aard_ again. Now!” She runs at him, kissing him. He flings one arm out, his sword arm wrapping around her, feeling her enhance his spell with her magic. 

The five standing reavers were flung backwards out of the cave mouth. 

Borch growled low.

“I’m afraid we have more. Go! I’ll protect the egg.” At least 10 reavers were climbing into the cave from the rear entrance.

Geralt marched out the cave, Yennefer close to his side, plucking a sword off one of the bodies.

“Get them!” One of the Reavers cried.

They swung into action. Geralt held his sword in two hands, bringing his blade down over and over, cutting men down. Yennefer held a dagger and the shortsword, grunting with effort as she struck.

More seemed to climb from inside the cave. Geralt grabbed the arm of one, twisting his sword to slit his throat before turning. He stilled when he saw Boholt. His stomach was bleeding but he stood firm

“So I get to kill you after all, Witcher.” Geralt gritted his teeth and swung. Even injured, Boholt was agile. He deflected Geralt's sword. 

Geralt heard Yennefer's cry as one reaver managed to disarm her and grab her by the collar of her coat. Growling, Geralt knocked Boholt back a few feet, throwing his sword into the side of the reaver. 

He watched it sink into his side, Yennefer being released as Boholt threw a handful of gravel in his face. 

“Fuck!” He barely managed to grab hold of the spear he tried to jab into his chest.

“It’s a shame you don’t get to see me crack that egg!” His eyes were mad, his lip curling over bared teeth. Geralt squinted, seeing about 2 inches of distance between the spear head and his throat. 

He saw Yennefer take Boholt’s shoulder, sinking a dagger through his throat. She pulled it out, watching blood pour from the wound. 

Geralt scrambled to his feet, blinking out the gravel. 

“Fucking bastard.” He grumbled. They walked to a less corpse ridden area. 

Geralt sighed when he heard Jaskier yell. 

“You couldn't have left him asleep?” Yennefer rolled her eyes at the Witcher.

He nodded to the warriors inside the cave, following the path that wrapped around it. Geralt let himself smile at the mountain range, the sun playing in the clouds.

Yennefer and Geralt sat on a raised piece of rock, waiting for Borch. 

“You are quite skilled with a blade.” Geralt nodded to the mage. She bumped her shoulder with his. 

“Is this what being friends with a Witcher entails? Grossly outnumbered fights and-” She mock- gasped. “Compliments?” Geralt laughed, almost easily. 

_Friends._

“I suppose it does.”

Borch bobbed into view. He brought Jaskier with him, the bard’s hands waved animatedly. 

“Geralt! I was so worried when I woke and you--” Borch put a hand on his shoulder, whispering too low for Geralt to hear. Jaskier’s face dropped into something much sadder and they walked closer to Geralt. 

He forced a smile when Geralt held his gaze. “Well, you look gorgeous, my dear. Good battle?” Jaskier said conversationally. Geralt held his hand out. 

“Just sit down, Lark.” That brought a smile, real smile to the bard’s face. He took Geralt's hand, twisting his arm. 

“Hmm, okay, I suppose you didn’t get too much blood on you.” Geralt let himself chuckle. “Yennefer. Alright?” She smiled, nodding her head. 

“Sleep well, did you?” 

“Enough.” Geralt rolled his eyes. 

His friends were getting along. Well, they weren’t at each other's throats. He liked the thought of that though, friends. His chest felt warm as he inhaled, lemongrass filling the air. 

Jaskier sat down, a few feet in front of Geralt, his notebook in his lap. 

“A child?” Yennefer prompted as Borch settled near them. 

“This treasure, this legacy must endure. There is no other reason to go on. Thank you for protecting it. And thank you, Yennefer of Vengerburg. I can see why Geralt didn’t want to lose you.” 

“What does that mean?” Geralt stared at Borch hard, his chest tightening, before meeting her gaze.

“In Rinde. The Djinn.”

“That’s why we can’t escape each other. Why I feel this way inside.”

“No.” Geralt went to take her arm but she pushed him away, her violet eyes wide and angry as she touched him.

“It’s not because any of this is real… or true. You made a wish. It’s magic.”

“It’s real, Yen. Our relationship-” 

“How can we ever know? The magic you’ve bound me with may keep me from ever having true feelings for you.” She got to her feet, walking a few paces away. “Disregard for others' freedom has become quite your trademark. Are you incapable of keeping around someone who wants you without forcing fate?”

“I made that wish to save your life.” His chest _hurt_. The air seemed to get thinner.

“I didn’t need your help!” 

“Like fuck you didn’t!” Geralt stood, mirroring her defensive stance. “And you, you flit about like a tornado, wreaking havoc, and for what? So you can have a baby? A child is no way to boost your fragile ego, Yen.”

“I’ll take advice from you about children as soon as you take responsibility for the one you bound to you and then abandoned!”

“That’s enough.” Borch’s voice was smooth but strong. “I’m going to save you both a lot of hurt with a little pain now. The sorceress will never regain her womb.” Yennefer’s lips curled into a broken smile, a tear rolled down her cheek. “And though you don’t want to lose her, Geralt, you will.”

“He already has.” She gives a slight nod to Borch in goodbye before turning away. Jaskier gets to his feet from behind Geralt.

“You wanted to show me what I had been missing… there she goes.” Geralt ground out, feeling like the air had been knocked out of him. Borch rose from his seat.

“What you're missing is still out there. Your legacy. And still here. Your destiny. I know it. And you know it.” He told him solidly. Geralt watched him as he walked away.

His head hurt. He turned to overlook the mountains. His friend. Within a day of finally admitting to having a friend, not a follower who talks too much and gets bored if there's no story to tell. Not a companion that tripped into a thorn bush the minute he left Geralt’s sight. Not a friend that stares at him as if Geralt himself hung the fucking moon, who idolises the Witcher because of his inhuman qualities. 

She was a friend who saw through to how lonely he was. Didn’t disturb the silence he sometimes so needed. Didn’t invade his space like she owned it. 

Geralt clenched his jaw, blinking the wetness from his eyes. 

“Phew. What a day! I imagine you’re probably--”

“Damn it, Jaskier!” He turned to the bard, growling viciously. “Why is it whenever I find myself in a pile of shit these days, it’s you who’s shovelling it.” He stalked towards him, almost chest to chest. 

“Well, that’s not fair.” Jaskier’s voice was soft, the corners of his blue eyes wet but Geralt felt anger claw at his throat.

“The Child Surprise, the Djinn, all of it! If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands.” He poked roughly into the bard’s creased doublet before going back to look over the mountain. He clenched his fists.

“Geralt, there are other things that can give your life meaning.” Jaskier starts, his lip shaking.

“Like what? Like you?” Geralt snarled. He thought of deep purple eyes, lilac flowers. 

“Right. Uh…” Jaskier paused for a long moment, Geralt's chest heaving with his forced breaths. The strength it took not to turn around made his lungs hurt. “Right, then. I’ll… I’ll go get the rest of the story from the others.”

_The story_ , the reason why Jaskier was even with him anyway. He swallowed heavily.

“See you around, Geralt.” 

He waited till Jaskier’s footsteps had receded, then he waited until the lilac, the sweat, the lemongrass, the salt, had dissipated from the air. Then he waited for what felt like an hour more before crumpling to his knees. 

A small flower slipped from his chest plate. Geralt caught it, the blue, dried petals in stark contrast with the leather of his gloves. A tear rolled down his cheek. When did he start crying? A sob tore through him, his hand curling around the forget-me-not.

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

When Ciri fell into his arms, the entire forest seemed to still. 

Her strong little arms wrapped around his back, her breathing and heartbeat filling the air. Geralt sucked in a heavy breath. 

Ciri smelt like sweat and damp earth, but underneath it all, she smelt of relieved juniper.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re safe.” She shook in his arms. 

He held her until a chill set down his spine and the wind bit at the backs of his knees. 

“Where have you been?” Her voice was small as they pulled apart. 

“Trying to escape destiny. I never meant for you to get hurt from my cowardice.” He brushed her hair back from her face, unable to stop the wonder that filled him. His child surprise, his _child_ had found him. 

“Come on, we’re near a town. I’ll find us a room.” They walk slowly beside Roach, the girl’s hand resting on her flank. 

Their boots had snow stuck to the soles, Ciri’s hood weighed down over her eyes as they entered the tavern. There was a bard singing, her high voice echoed through the room, silvery and beautiful.

Geralt held her by the shoulder, steering her to the bar. 

“One room, two beds. Ale. Food for the child.” 

“Two rooms, one bed or one room, double bed.” The man sniffed, moustache wiggling on his lip.

“One room will be fine.” Geralt swallowed down the alarm at leaving his child so soon. He hands over the coin. 

“That’ll be brought up to you shortly. Third door to your right.” Geralt ‘hmm’ed. 

He took Ciri upstairs, finding their room. It wasn’t overly spacious, though the bed looked soft enough. 

“Are you tired?” Geralt fumbled with the buckles of his chest plate with frostbitten fingers. His chest ached in the silence.

“No. I am hungry though.”

“You heard what I did, cub.” She sighs, climbing into the bed. Once Geralt had rid himself of his armour, he settled beside her, hands folded in his lap. 

“You ever played Gwent?” He asked conversationally. 

“Once, with my grandfather.” 

Geralt chuckled, remembering Eist and the way he smoothly spoke to Queen Calanthe, holding her arm gently despite the amount of ale he had packed in his gut that night. 

“I have an old set, if you’d like to practice.” Ciri nodded her head. 

He searched through his pack, finding the small pack of 20 odd cards. 

The smell made his head reel. They were musty from living in the bottom of his bag, but as he shuffled the deck, he could pick out individual cards that seemed soaked in lemongrass. 

Swallowing hard, he handed Ciri her cards. They played a few rounds, eating when the food was brought. 

A delighted smile appeared on her face when she won two out of three rounds. 

“Well done, cub. Get into bed, it’s late.” Geralt snuffed a few candles, leaving the one by her bedside lit out of habit. 

He laid back on the bed, his chest heavy. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Soon it would be too cold to continue their weeks in the fashion they had been. 

He could see the way the sun hung low, the way the tree branches bared themselves for the frost. He could see it in the way the girl pulled her cloak tighter round her body, her knees shaking on each side of Roach. 

Ciri had been barely able to uncurl her fingers from her dagger hilt after their spar, cheeks red and forehead sweaty. Geralt took her hands in his, blowing on them gently. 

“You’re improving.” He smiled at her. She returned it easily. “We’ll go to the mountains for winter. My… My brother is there. He will help train you.” Ciri hummed happily as Roach let her climb up on her back. 

They set up camp for the night, Geralt feeding the small fire dry branches for their meal to cook on. 

“Geralt? Can you brush my hair for me?” 

“Hmm. I won’t be able to do much else for it, cub.” He took the comb from her, easing it through her blonde curls. Once they’re knot free, he took one of the small leather bands, pulling her hair into a ponytail. 

The ache in his chest turned sharp in the silence.

“Thank you.” She smiled softly up at him, pulling her cloak tighter around her shoulders. He nodded, pouring out stew. 

They eat in company of the crackle of the flames, the boiling water, crickets dancing in the brush around them. Ciri turned to her bedroll soon after finishing, sleepy and warmed from the simple stew.

Geralt sighed. He wasted some few minutes brushing Roach with soft bristles. He picked leaves out of her mane, leaning his head to rest on her neck. He soaked up her sweet hay scent.

Drawing him out of his self- indulgent break, the girl’s heartbeat had quickened. She tossed in her bedroll, her blanket falling off her shoulders as her face scrunched in her sleep. 

Geralt crouched beside her, hands outstretched. 

Jaskier would be so much better at this. The bard used to coax Geralt out of his terrors with soft touches and a low, steady hum. His hands were always cool on Geralt’s sweaty skin. 

Even in his own nightmares, Jaskier handled them better than Geralt ever could. He would repeat his name until Jaskier woke, the bard then curling into his chest, or sitting propped up against his legs, breathing to the count of 5-7-5. There would be tears in his eyes but he would wrap Geralt’s arms around himself. He slowly taught the Witcher how to soothe away the monsters he couldn’t reach with a sword. 

Ciri cried quietly in her dream. 

Geralt gently pulled her blanket back over her, humming softly. He let his fingers smooth over her hair, repeating the motion until her eyes cracked open. 

“My… my friend used to say singing helped make the darkness feel less heavy.” Geralt murmured to her. She nodded, her cheeks wet. The Witcher crossed his legs beside her, opening his arms. 

Ciri curled into his lap, shaking slightly. He cleared his throat, stroking her hair. 

" _All the fear and the fire of the end of the world_

_Happens… happens great, happens sweet_

_Happily, I’m unfazed here, too…”_

It felt wrong. His voice couldn’t hold a candle to Jaskier’s. The words scratched at his throat, he couldn’t even remember them right. 

_“All the things yet to come are the things that have passed_

_Like the holding of hands, like the breaking of glass_

_Like the bonfire that burns_

_That all words in the fight fell to…”_

Ciri had relaxed on his legs, holding his other hand between her small ones. 

The memory of Jaskier’s wide forget-me-not blue eyes, looking down at him in the firelight, hit him sharply in the chest. He could feel his nose sting, his eyes watering slightly.

Geralt coughed, his voice cracking. It was too melancholy. When Jaskier had sung it to him, deep into the night, it was full and slow and beautiful.

_“Be still, my indelible friend, you are unbreaking_

_Though quaking, though crazy_

_We’ll watch the death of the sun_

_To cloud and the cold and that look you got on_

_And you’ll gaze unafraid as they sob from village roofs.”_

Ciri sniffled into her blanket, murmuring a wet _“_ thank you _”_. 

Geralt hummed, staring up at the dark sky, remembering blue eyes. 

How could he not?

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


Once they reached the foot of the mountain, Roach led the way up the small, barely there path. The trees were close together, Roach picked her way through carefully. 

Geralt could smell sandalwood and smoke faintly. A small smile tugged on his lips, knowing Eskel had recently travelled this path. 

Soon the air began to smell damp, Geralt wrapped his cloak around Ciri. 

“It will rain soon.” Ciri perked her head up taking deep breaths through her nose.

“I can’t tell.” 

“You won’t yet. Try in another 20 minutes.” She nodded, stroking through Roach’s mane.

The time passed quickly enough, They were maybe an hours walk away now. Geralt grimaces as the rain began to drop down on them. The faint smell of blood made his nose itch.

The tang of iron makes him grimace, walking beside Roach a bit closer. He could see the path up to the old coal mine had splashes of blood. 

“Stay here.” Geralt set Roach by a tree, looping her reins around a branch without tying her. He pulled his silver sword from his back, feet quiet on the ground. 

Picking his way through the old trail, the smell of blood got a lot stronger. Corpses of three bloated bandits lay dead in the entrance of the mine, the door tore from its hinges. Turning one of the bodies over with the toe of his boot, Geralt could have groaned. 

The throat of the body had been completely torn out, eyes missing and mouth agape. Dried blood covered the face. Nose scrunching in a sneer, Geralt moved to the next corpse. This one was almost intact, eyes missing, mouth twisted into a fearful scowl. 

Two small stab wounds were in the side of its neck, too deep for a vampire. He sighed. The mine shaft entrance had a thick layer of cobwebs deeper into the tunnel. There were torn webs waving like drapes.

The third body, just outside the doorway, laid on its back, arms clenched around a bag.

Geralt used the heel of his boot to pry it from the dead man’s grip. Inside was a coin pouch and a small bronze dagger. He took the coin, weighing the dagger in his hand, before slipping it in his boot. 

He took a deep breath, listening to the trees trade secrets. The stagnant blood curled around him. There was something sweeter in the air. 

Geralt focused on the scent. He whirled around, using his sword to cut away some of the webs outside the entrance. An elven lute laid in the dust, smelling fresh and sweet. 

The everpresent ache in his chest turned sharp.

He took a small vial of _Cat_ from his belt pouch and swallowed it down. He could hear the clicks of movement in the mine, waiting until he felt the potion take effect. 

Cutting cleanly down the centre of the cobwebs, Geralt found it hard to breath, the air thick with blood and dust. He could see the spiders, shulking in the shadows of the tunnel. They were hatchlings at most, frail-bodied as they lunged at him.

Swiping his sword in a low arch, he cut through most of the, stamping on a couple as he walked. They seemed to swarm around him, hanging from the ceiling with their weak webs, snapping at his ankles from divots in the walls.

A couple managed to sink their pinprick fangs into his calf as he walked. He tore them away, snapping their jaws with the action.

He cleared out the tunnel easily, the venom barely noticeable before his blood neutralised it. 

The tunnel opened into a wide room, empty egg sacs dotting along the walls and up into the heavily webbed ceiling. 

He could hear several heartbeats, slicing the weaker spiders easily. He could smell the lemongrass to his left, along faint heartbeats.

There was a loud screech from above him. 

Geralt slowly took a vial of Arachnid oil out of his pouch, dripping some onto the blade. The Aracha had a swollen abdomen, its orchid mouth snarling. 

“There’s mama.” Geralt breathed. He held his sword up in a block, attempting to put some distance between the Aracha and the mummified bodies. “Come on, easy.” He clicked his tongue at her, dodging to the side as she surged forward. 

He dragged the length of his sword along her side. He sunk the blade through her abdomen, wincing as she cried out. 

As he set his boot against the leathery flesh to remove the sword, he could feel the empty clutch in her belly. He shook his head, crossing the room to the bodies. Pulling the dagger from his boot, he sliced up the side of one of the corpses.

The scarred face of a man stared back at him, featuring grey and frozen. Geralt moved onto the next one. This one was alive, at least. He cut free an ashen woman, smelling no blood on her. 

“Run.” She let out a cry, scrambling to her feet on weak legs. Slicing up the last body, he pulled the webs way carefully. He let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Jaskier’s face was tearstained and pale, but very much alive. Geralt pressed his palm to his face. 

“Hey, wake up. Come on, it’s okay.” He kept his voice low and soft, a small gasp escaping his lips as Jaskier’s eyes fluttered open. “You with me?” 

A low rumble came from behind him. “Fuck.” 

Fangs sunk into him as he was dragged away. He groaned, feeling the stronger venom slip into his system. He couldn’t reach his sword, crawling forward wasn’t an option. The Aracha’s jaws clamped down on his side. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier couldn’t see in the dark. 

Geralt strained to unsheath the silver dagger in this chest piece, sinking it into the creature's head. 

He threw his arm out, _Igni_ flying from his fingertips, catching on the empty egg sacs, slowly taking hold of the webs. 

“Jaskier, my sword.” He wheezed, trying to loosen the Aracha grip on him. He worked the dagger up under its jaw. He could feel it crack the bone, hearing the bard stumble to his feet. “Through the abdomen.” 

Jaskier was in no shape to be lifting the heavy sword, let alone wielding it, but he pressed it into the creature. The Aracha bit into Geralt harder. They both cried out as it stilled. 

Jaskier was on his knees at Geralt’s side as soon as the scream had left his throat. He used the sword to pry the mouth open, the bottom jaw hanging uselessly. Geralt was able to ease himself off the fangs. 

“What’ve you got?” Jaskier’s hands were quick to his belt pouch, searching for the right potion. Geralt groaned, catching his thin wrist. 

“Ciri- Roach.” Jaskier made a frustrated sound. Geralt got his feet under him, leaning into Jaskier. “You always smell so nice.”

Jaskier stumbled, his mouth open. “Careful, don’t fall.” 

The Witcher was a heavy weight over Jaskier’s shoulders, his strength slipping away with every step. Jaskier swore when he went limp against him, barely at the mine entrance.

“You bastard.” Jaskier huffs, straining against the Witcher’s weight. He got them out of the mine, sweat soaking his skin. “Ciri! Roach!” He thought he might cry. 

Geralt, bastard of Rivia. 

He looked worse for wear, his hair greasy tied up, stubble and dirt sticking to his face. His armour was covered in dried blood, now bearing gaping holes in one side. 

He sighed in relief as he heard Roach’s hooves. Forcing himself forward on aching legs to run and greet them, he rubbed his hand up Roach’s nose. 

“Hello, my dear. Yes, I’ve missed you so much.” He winces as she headbutts him. Searching through the packs, he pulls out bandages and Geralt's spare potions bag. 

The princess was staring down at him, her green eyes almost yellow under her hood. 

“Ah, hi. I might need a hand in sorting our Witcher out.” He doesn’t wait for a reply, rushing back to Geralt’s prone form. He loosened the straps of his armour, bandaging the wounds. 

He padded the area with extra bandages, cinching the armour on the wrong side of tight to keep pressure on the wounds. 

The princess dismounted Roach, her footsteps quiet. 

“Ciri? Is it? Okay, lovely, I’m going to need you to find a bottle of Golden Oriole. We need to stop the poison. Come on, hurry now.” 

Jaskier moved his attention to the gouge in Geralt’s thigh. “Ciri?” 

When he looked up from bandaging his leg, his hands stilled. Her lip was shaking. “Oh no, no.” Jaskier swallowed hard. “Has he not told you about the potions?” 

She shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. 

“He never lets me help. Says I’m too young to be playing with Witcher things.” 

Jaskier scoffed, holding out his hand to pull her down beside him. 

“He’s a fool.” He told her. “Right, pass the bag. Okay, this one here?” He holds up a bottle, half full of deep amber liquid. “Will neutralise most of the poison in his system. I don’t know how much it will help as the bastard hasn’t restocked!”

He lent over Geralt, shouting the last part of his sentence in the Witcher’s face. Ciri giggled shakily to his left. 

“Okay, lovely. I need you to get him to swallow that.” He passed her the bottle, searching in the pouch again. “He’s bleeding quite a lot, I’m not sure what’s more of an issue.”

“It’s been a while.” She finished for him, tipping the potion slowly into Geralt’s mouth. He nodded, smiling gently.

“Yeah. You get it.” She bobbed her head, giving him back the bottle. “Okay so this,” He held up a pale blue bottle. “Is called Kiss. It helps stop the bleeding. Now, I can’t remember if he has to drink it or not. What’re we thinking?”

He uncorked the bottle, swilling it carefully. 

“Both?” 

“I don’t see what harm doing both will have.” He chuckled, trying not to let the panic consume him. He tipped more than half of the potion between Geralt’s lips, holding his jaw carefully. He soaked the bandages with the rest of it. 

“Hey, it’s okay. He’s going to be okay.” He patted her shoulder. 

“Jask…” Geralt groaned, his hand grabbing hold of his arm.

“I’m here, I know, I know.” Jaskier felt tears threaten him as Geralt frowned, his eyes dark slits. 

“Lute- Your lute.” He took a ragged breath. “Don’t leave-” Jaskier shushed him gently. 

“I need you to stand up, darling. Little ol’ me and Ciri here, can’t lift you.” He grunted, nodding. 

It’s a team effort to hoist Geralt up onto Roach, securing him by the reins. Jaskier wrapped him in the dark blue cloak on Roach’s back. 

“Okay, I’m going to grab my lute.” He ran his hand over Ciri’s cloaked head, winking at her when she smiled shyly. 

His lute is leaning up against the entrance of the mine, the strap broken, his leather bag laid not far from it. Jaskier does let himself shed a tear, a long quiet moment. 

Geralt’s blood soaked his hands.

Why wasn’t he surprised this is how they met again?

The walk back to Roach was as painful and as long as the past month had been. He sucked in a breath, choking on the sob that threatened to spill. 

“So! Where are we heading?” He patted Roach’s neck, and she started picking her way through the trees.

“Roach knows.” Ciri told him, her voice small. “Geralt said we’re going to his brother’s for winter.” 

Jaskier swallowed. They were going to Kaer Morhen.

“Oh?” He tried for light, but by her steeled gaze, he knew he had failed.

“I remember you, you know. From my birthdays.” She murmured like it was a secret. “You sang to me.” A blush started up his neck.

“I sang to everyone, lovely.” 

“No, you sang to me. Everyone else was just there.” She smiled up at him. “You were so good. Do you still play?” 

“Nothing as jovial now.” He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. 

“Is it because of Geralt? He told me once you used to braid his hair.”

“Used to.” Jaskier echoed. 

Rain softly fell on his face. Ciri grumbled, pulling her too big cloak tighter around herself. Jaskier tied his lute to Roach’s packs carefully. He could see the hulking frame of Kaer Morhen in the distance. 

He searched for some food in the packs, splitting the hard biscuits with Ciri. 

“Come now, we’re almost there. Can you see it?” He crouches down. “Get on my back. I can see you shaking.” 

The rain fell heavier, her arms slipping around his neck, her head tucking in tight. He fastened the cloak loosely over his own shoulders, able to keep the chill off Ciri.

Her knees were tight on his sides, her breath coming in puffs. 

“You‘ve done so well. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy for you.” He talked smoothly, his hands locked behind her knees. She nodded into the collar of his doublet. 

“Everything I do seems to make him annoyed. I’ve known him for over two weeks now and he still barely speaks.” Jaskier hummed as she spoke. 

“He thinks he’s tough, likes pushing away the people who care about him.”

“You talk like you know him well.”

“You’re a smart kid. We were close once. Friends.” 

“Witcher’s don’t have friends.” She made her voice deeper, more gravelly. Jaskier laughs, skipping a little to keep in step with Roach. 

“Did he really say that? Everyone needs a friend. I was his bestest friend in the whole wide world.” He spun on his heel, feeling her giggle against his neck. 

“Why weren’t you with him? I think I would have liked travelling with you.”

“I’m a delightful travel companion.” He hiked her higher on his back. “But, sadly, we had a rather spectacular falling out and the fool still hasn’t written his apologies.” 

“But… you saved him. He would have died if it was just me.” He could hear the tears in her voice. 

“It would have been his own fault. Learning how to stop him from dying is Witcher companion 101.” He shook his head with a chuckle. “You know, the only reason I know what I do, is because he got his shoulder torn out by a Griffin and I withheld his potions until he told me.”

He felt Ciri gasp. 

“Yes, I know. It was cruel, he was in a lot of pain so he couldn’t chase me about the room. It took a lot to get that stubborn bastard to let me help. Though, they’ll teach you everything in wolf school.” 

He sighed, his knees aching. He forced himself to keep in step with Roach. 

Jaskier hummed softly, feeling Ciri relax against his back. Her arms were loose around his neck. 

“See, we’re here.” He whispered, her breathing even in her sleep.

The gates had iron bands wrapped around the wood. One opened slowly, Roach happily trotting forward. 

The man that stood there looked a lot like Geralt. His hair reminded Jaskier of soft straw, tied behind his head. A scar ran across his cheekbone, puckering down his chin and throat, on the right side of his face. He had sharp golden eyes, thick arms crossed over his chest

“Ah, hello- Eskel? You’re Eskel, right?” 

The Witcher blinked. 

“Sorry, who are you and why do you have a Witcher's horse?” His nose scrunched up, his hand stretching to rest on Roach’s snout. His voice was harsh, almost metallic as it rang through the rain.

“The Witcher in question is passed out, poisoned on her back. I did as much as I could, the damn fool didn't have a full stock of potions.”

Jaskier’s legs burned, Ciri getting heavier as every second passed. “His child surprise needs to be trained, kept safe in these winter months.” 

The Witcher hummed. He opened the gate further, extending an arm. Roach nickered, butting her head against his chest as she walked past.

“What happened to him?” 

“Uh, big spider things. With big pointy fangs.” He added, staggering a little. 

“You must be Jaskier.” He whistled. 

“Must I?” Jaskier asked lightly, leaning forward to get a better grip on Ciri. 

Another man meets them at the stable. He has dark brown hair, darker eyes than the others. He’s just as broad as Eskel, a little shorter. 

“Yeah. Come on, we’ll get you sorted.” Eskel throws their packs over his shoulder, pushing Geralt off the mare. The other Witcher caught him with a groan. 

Eskel took Geralt’s arm across his shoulders, knocking their heads. “A little help wouldn’t go unnoticed.” He grunted, the dark haired Witcher wrapping his arm around Geralt’s waist.

“Beautiful horses.” Jaskier murmured. There was a tall grey mare, tack black and clean beside her, a mottled white and tan gelding and mare. Roach slipped between the two toned horses, nosing them gently.

“Thanking you, bard. Where’d he get shredded?” Jaskier huffed, shifting his weight onto his other aching leg. 

“The old coal mine about an hour from here. Big spiders. I’m talking big.” Jaskier chuckled. “Little ones, babies too. Geralt burned the egg sacs and I helped with the second spider.”

“Hmm. Don’t fall behind.” His voice wasn’t as hard as Eskel's, but there's no smile. “Is that…?” Eskel nodded, a grin on his face. 

The corridor into Kaer Morhen was lengthy and Jaskier’s knees felt like they were about to buckle. The wet cloak seemed crushing, Ciri sniffed against his neck, her legs wrapping tightly around him. 

They lead him through the keep, up a grand set of stairs. The stairs open out into a large chamber, a fireplace on the east wall, a low table surrounded by long chairs. To the side of the fireplace sat an older man in an armchair.

“Here, go sit. We’ll handle the Wolf.” Eskel winked at him, adjusting his grip on Geralt. Jaskier nodded, swallowing. He smiled at the man, his medallion glinting in the firelight.

This Witcher had thin grey hair slicked back from his face, a kept beard, his mouth set in a hard line. 

“Didn’t realise Geralt was bringing so many guests.” His voice had an edge to it that Jaskier couldn’t identify, but he sat across from the man despite the growl.

“Hah… I don’t think he knew himself either. He decided to get bitten by a big spider, so really,” Jaskier slipped Ciri off his back, her hand sliding down his arm, tangling their fingers together. She kept her eyes shut, pressing herself close to him.

“So!” Jaskier started brightly. “I’m Jaskier, this is Ciri. She’s travelling with the Wolf for the foreseeable future, teaching her Witchery things.” 

The Witcher rests his head on his hand. “I promised her I’d at least stay until either Geralt gets back on his feet, or he asks me to leave. Whatever comes first.”

The WItcher grunted. 

Jaskier tried to rub the feeling back in his fingers.

“How did you cross paths with a Witcher?” He sounded almost curious. Jaskier smiles sheepishly.

“Ah, which time? Anyway, well. I got jumped by some rather rude fellows who dragged me up the mountain for a laugh. Dear Geralt only stumbled into my path again by pure chance. Nasty spider things had killed most of the men, and I assume saved me and a few others for a late supper.” Jaskier waved his hands. “I was only there for the best part of two days.”

“Quite the ordeal you’ve been through. Eskel.” 

Jaskier turned his head, following the Witcher’s gaze. 

“Hey, what did you give him?”

“Uhm. Barely half of the Golden Oriole and most of Kiss- he was bleeding a lot. How is he?” Jaskier turned in his seat, tucking his foot underneath him.

“Still a lot of poison in him but I’m a little surprised at how the actual wounds are healing.” Eskel grinned. “Well done, bard.” 

Jaskier felt his face flush. 

“He’s in and out, the poison seems quite the joy, but he managed a little conversation.” Jaskier snorted without thinking. “I know, it was like draining water from a stone.” Eskel rolled his eyes, unfolding his arms. 

“You can come see him if you’d like. She’s safe here with Ves.” Jaskier tucked the cloak around Ciri’s shoulders a little tighter, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

“Hear that? I’ll be back soon.” 

Jaskier followed Eskel out of the room and down the corridors. 

“This one here is my room. I’m going to put Ciri next to mine, across from Geralt’s room. Sound good?” Jaskier nodded.

“Can you slow a little? Sorry, I carried her most of the way and I was a spider’s prisoner for a few days.” He chuckled, falling into step beside the Witcher.

“Are you hurt?” Eskel looked alarmed. 

“Oh, no. I’m okay, dear. Just tired.” Jaskier really did feel tired. Why did Geralt even come for him? Had he known, going in, that Jaskier was there? 

“I forgot to mention, he’s taken quite a lot of potions. So, just be easy with him.” Eskel murmured, opening the door to Geralt’s room. 

It was sparsely furnished, a large bed, a wardrobe, set of draws and a small table with a single chair. Geralt laid, bare chested, on the bed. A blanket was across his waist. Jaskier hated the curl of worry that climbed his ribs. 

He trailed his fingers up Geralt’s sternum, watching his eye twitch.

“So, you can stay with him if you’d like, or I can get Lambert to make you up a spare room.” His voice was warm when he spoke. Jaskier shook his head, smiling softly at him.

“No, that’s very kind of you but I don’t think I’ll be staying.” He prodded Geralt’s shoulder. “Is he dead?” Eskel laughed softly. 

“A very much normal sleep, he should recover from the bites in a few hours, the venom will take a little longer.” Jaskier hummed, prodded his shoulder again, harder.

“Hey, bastard. Wake up.” Geralt’s nose scrunched. “Open your damn eyes, Geralt, I know when you're faking.” 

Geralt sighed, reluctantly cracking one eye open. They were blown dark from the potions. Jaskier felt breathless as he stared into the deep black. 

“Jask…” His voice was rough. 

“You better start thinking of an explanation.” Jaskier stared down at him, folding his arms over his chest. Eskel coughed from the doorway.

“Hmm? Sorry, dear, do you mind giving u a minute?” 

“Of course. Shout me when you're done and I'll come dress his wounds. Though don’t touch the knife, that’s Lambert’s favorite.” Jaskier laughed, glancing at the bedside table. A needle, a small thin blade, and a silver serrated knife laid there innocently.

“A broken nose will probably be the most damage I will do.” Eskel smiled carefully, leaving the room.

“Jaskier?” Geralt watched him turn away, pacing slowly. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Like there’s fire in my veins.” Geralt huffed weakly. 

Jaskier nodded, satisfied. 

“Where’s Ciri?” 

“She’s in the other room, sleeping. You gave her a real scare. You would have died.” Jaskier stated, crossing his arms. “She didn’t even know which bottle was the Golden Oriole, Geralt!” Jaskier almost yelled. 

“Jask-” 

“No, Geralt. She is the one thing in your life that you cannot push away. She needs you. And you need her. Don’t you dare tell me that I’m wrong.”

“Are you okay?” The soft question makes Jaskier pause. 

“No. And right now, neither is Ciri. So, what you’re going to do is apologise to her and tell her exactly how important she is to you.” Geralt lowered his eyes, sighing.

“Are you going to leave again?” Jaskier laughs. He lent down, brushing some hair from Geralt’s face. His mouth twists into something spiteful.

“I waited for almost three days at the foot of that mountain. I searched those towns for a week, trying to find a trace of you. When I finally did, I… I don’t even know why I wanted to find you. It was like I was chasing a ghost” Jaskier let his fingers trail down Geralt’s cheek, his mouth unable to keep the shape of a snarl. “Did you even notice I was gone?” 

“Every day.” Geralt’s eyes were soft, he winced as he reached to take hold of Jaskier’s face. He held him tight, stroking the back of his neck. “Please don’t leave.” 

“Go to sleep.” Geralt’s eyes widened. “If you’d allow me, I’ll be around when you wake up.” Geralt nodded, hissing as he shifted his weight 

“Okay, I’ll bring Ciri in a bit.“ He kissed Geralt's sweaty forehead, watching his eyes closed, hand slowly slipping from his face. 

He hovered over Geralt for a long moment, their foreheads almost touching. Sighing, Jaskier spotted their belongings beside the draws. He found a relatively clean black shirt in Geralt’s bag. Changing out of his rain damp doublet, Jaskier pulled on the shirt, and untied his lute, feeling the case for his notebook.

Eskel was a little way down the hall, leaning against the wall. He smiled as Jaskier walked to him. 

“Feel better?” 

“Not particularly.” He bumped their elbows as they went back to the common room. Eskel hummed, propping the door open.

Jaskier sat beside Ciri, her hand immediately taking hold of his shirt. Jaskier patted her head, smiling. “He’s all patched up, just full of spidey spit.” 

Ciri giggled, her eyes bright. The older Witcher sat forward in his chair.

“I am Vesemir, you have already met Eskel. That is Lambert.” The dark haired Witcher waved slightly, a lazy smile on his face. “Ciri has already explained Geralt’ intention in bringing her here.” 

Jaskier nodded, Ciri leaning into his space. She rested her head on his shoulder, shrinking into the gap his arm made for her. He hummed softly, squeezing his arm around her. 

Swallowing, Jaskier smiled at the Witchers, feeling somewhat like a hare caught short in a wolf's den.

“Geralt grew up here, didn’t he? What was he like?” Jaskier looked expectantly. Vesemir sighed. 

“How did Geralt of Rivia find himself with such a chatty bard.” Jaskier flapped his hand.

“Yes, yes, he’s a miserable bastard. But has he always been?” Eskel laughed, clapping his hands. 

“Actually, yes.” Vesemir glared at Eskel. “He always was the more reserved pup.” Lambert blew a raspberry at Vesemir, leaning back in his chair.

“What Ves means is, Geralt was the only one who didn’t complain about his cooking.” Jaskier laughed. 

“How long have you been with Geralt?” Eskel asked.

“Uh, well I met him just before I turned 21. Maybe a month ago, we went our separate ways.” Jaskier took his lute out of the case, resting his notebook beside him and tested the tuning. 

“Are you going to finish shouting at him before or after dinner?” 

“After.” Jaskier smiled, smoothing his hand down Ciri’s back. “But he hasn’t heard the half of it.” Vesemir nodded. 

“Can you play me something?” Ciri asked. Her voice was so shy and quiet, Jaskier’s chest hurt. She was paging through his notebook, running her fingers over the dried ink and smudged charcoal. 

“Oh, uh…” He looked to the Witchers. Lambert had his head resting on Eskel’s thigh, his eyes closed and boots hanging off the end of the sofa. Eskel grinned at him, his hands running over the younger Witcher’s chest. 

Vesemir crossed one leg over the other, nodding his head. 

“It’s been a while since music has graced the Keep.”

Jaskier crossed his legs underneath himself, sitting straighter. 

“This one?” Ciri lays his open notebook on his lap. 

“Ah, that’s not quite perfected.” Jaskier smiles, strumming a few chords.

“It’s old though? Is it about Geralt?” Ciri turned the page, and back again. 

“Kind of. I’ve been trying to finish it for years.” He sucked in a breath, starting a soft slow tune. 

“ _My head was warm_

_My skin was soaked_

_I called your name_

_‘Til the fever broke…”_

Jaskier remembered when Geralt had gotten back from dealing with the kikimora. He had a line of stitches in the meat of his shoulder, and a tremor in his hands. Jaskier had slipped him out of the leather and put him to bed with soft hands.

_“...When I awoke_

_The moon still hung_

_The night so black_

_That the darkness hums._

_I raised myself_

_My legs were weak_

_I prayed my mind_

_Be good to me…”_

Geralt had been plagued by a nightmare. Without a verbal reason, Jaskier had gotten between the sweat soaked sheets and smoothed his hair back. He smiled, remembering the trust that had shone gold.

_“...An awful noise_

_Filled the air_

_I heard a scream_

_In the woods somewhere._

_A woman's voice_

_I quickly ran_

_Into the trees_

_With empty hands…”_

In Rinde, the thoughtless rescue of the mage. Geralt had no idea how much it stung, cut at him. He thought for a long moment, playing the same chord. Testing the lyrics, he quirked his eyebrow at Ciri.

_“... A fox it was_

_He shook afraid_

_I spoke no word_

_No sound he made_

_His bones exposed_

_His hind was lame_

_I raised a stone_

_To end his pain_

_What made-_ No,”

Jaskier sucked on his teeth. 

_“What caused the wound?_

_How large the teeth?_

_I saw new eyes_

_Were watching me_

_The creature lunged_

_I turned and ran_

_To save a life_

_I didn't have..._

_Deer in the chase_

_There as I flew_

_I forgot all prayers_

_Of joining you_

_I clutched my life_

_And wished it kept_

_My dearest love_

_I'm not done yet…”_

He quickly jotted down the words, smudging the charcoal in his rush. Jaskier hummed as he wrote. His fingers danced along the neck of his lute.

_How many years_

_I know I'll bare_

_I found something_

_In the woods somewhere”_

Lambert whistled. 

“A wolf? The new eyes?” 

Jaskier rolled his shoulders in a shrug, feeling his cheeks heat. He scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Well, I’m very impressed.” Eskel clapped his hands.”I figured out why Geralt keeps his chatty bard.”

“Hah.” Jaskier wet his lips, closing his book. Vesemir frowned, glancing across to Eskel. 

“Know how to skin a pheasant, cub?” Ciri looked up at him, shaking her head. “Come on, you can help me with dinner.” Jaskier kissed the top of her head comfortingly when she looked at him. Her eyes shone as she smiled softly.

“What did the fool do?” Lambert spoke softly when Ciri was out of earshot. 

“Oh, just usual Witchery things.” Jaskier looked at his hands, stroking over the curve of the lute. 

“You do understand that we’re also Witchers and we can hear when you lie.” Eskel tipped his head with a smile. Jaskier made a frustrated sound, but smiled. 

“He just got sick of me and my endless chatter. Sent me away without a second look.” Jaskier forced another grin, swallowing. 

Eskel frowned, a dark look crossing his face. 

“I thought- I mean he kept asking for you. Was it really that bad?” Jaskier shrugged. Lambert sat up, crossing his ankles and rested his elbows on his knees.

“You want to do more… bardy things before dinner?” Jaskier laughed, hugging his lute to his chest. 

“Gentlemen, want to request anything in particular?”

“Nothing of the great adventures of our Geralt. But something you’ve written?” Jaskier grimaces, thinking hard. 

“I can’t promise it’s not the most maudlin thing you’ve heard.” Eskel waves a hand. 

“We love a bit of feeling around here, don’t we?” Eskel laid a heavy arm over Lambert's shoulders. The darker haired man rolled his eyes, leaning into the other.

Jaskier swallowed down the lump in his throat, strumming carefully.

_“_ _The fairer sex, they often call it_

_But her love's as unfair as a crook_

_It steals all my reason, commits every treason_

_Of logic, with naught but a look...”_

Eskel sat back on the sofa, his hand smoothing up Lambert's spine. They both sported encouraging smiles.

_“A storm raging on the horizon_

_Of longing and heartache and lust_

_She's always bad news, it's always lose, lose_

_So tell me, love, tell me, love, how is that just?_

_But the story is this_

_She'll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss_

_But the story is this_

_She'll destroy with her sweet kiss_

_Her current is pulling you closer_

_And charging the hot, humid night_

_The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool_

_Better stay out of sight...”_

His voice cracked, unable to keep the tears from wetting his eyes. 

_“I'm weak my love, and I am wanting_

_If this is the path I must trudge_

_I'll welcome my sentence, give to you my penance_

_Garroter, jury, and judge_

_But the story is this_

_She'll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss_

_But the story is this_

_She'll destroy with her sweet kiss”_

Lambert clapped slowly, his eyes shining. 

“Damn, bard. Who hurt you?” The Witcher said it with a smile. Jaskier thought they already knew.

“I write more than intrepid tales of silver swords.” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth as he smiled.

“Heroics and heartbreak.” The deep, scratchy voice made him turn in surprise.

Geralt stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame. His voice was strained and his skin pale. 

Jaskier discarded his lute in favour of crossing the room. He took some of Geralt’s weight, poking his free hand at his chest.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing out of bed?”

“Jask-”

“No, don’t you “Jask” me.” Geralt's hand reached to his cheek, thumb wiping away a stray tear. 

“Is that song… about…” 

“I’ve never known you so interested in my lyrics.” Jaskier told him mildly, pulling his arm more securely over his shoulders. “Come sit down before you fall down.”

“Would you leave me on the floor?” Geralt murmured, head lolling forward.

“Without a second thought.” 

Eskel took Geralt's other arm with a grin, helping him on the chair.

“Stubborn oaf.” He muttered over the top of Geralt’s head. 

“I could still take you.” Geralt growled. Jaskier couldn’t help the laugh that shook out of him. 

“Oh, you defensive bastard.” He smoothed down Geralt’s hair. “Remind me to sort this out before you sleep tonight.” 

Eskel patted Geralt’s shoulder solidly once he was sitting upright. He sat back on the other sofa, throwing his legs over Lambert’s lap. 

“So who would win?” Jaskier gave a cocky smile. Lambert stifled a laugh. 

“Eskel bullies his way to winning.” Geralt told him, in a hushed tone. Jaskier nodded solemnly, running his fingers through the tangles in the Witcher’s hair. 

“I do.” Eskel conceded. “There aren’t rules out in the real world, why are there rules here?” Lambert rolled his eyes, prodding Eskel’s side. 

“There are rules because otherwise you break bones.” 

Jaskier feels like this was a repeated argument.

“Well, don’t have weak bones and they wouldn’t break easily!” Eskel threw his hands up. 

Geralt lent his head close to Jaskier's, almost knocking them together. 

“He once broke my ankle and trapped me under one of the practice dummies until I yielded.” Eskel chuckled.

“Ah, my greatest victory of the year. We were, what? 15?” Geralt nodded, grinning. 

“Dinner’s done!” Ciri’s silvery voice called up. Eskel and Lambert haul Geralt to his feet, half dragging him across the room and down the stairs. Jaskier ties the broken strap of his lute case together with a sigh, swinging it on his shoulder.

“Come on, bard.” Eskel grinned.

The dining room was just as spacious as the common room. The stone floor was dusty, but the table was polished and set. There was a fire burning in an alcove, a large cooking pot bubbling away. 

“Hey, lovely.” Jaskier smoothed his hand down her back as she greeted him with a hug. Vesemir handed out bowls before sitting at the head of the table. The two Witchers lug Geralt into the chair to Vesemir's right, with a grunt.

Eskel sat to Vesemir’s left, Lambert beside him. Cir sat next to Geralt, Jaskier on her other side. 

“I helped make it.” Ciri stated proudly. “Uncle Ves said I did a good first try.” They start eating, Jaskier humming as he mixes his stew. 

“It’s great, cub.” Geralt murmured between mouthfuls. He’s met with grunts of agreement. 

“We should get you to bed before it gets late.” Geralt scraped out the last of the stew, pushing his chair back. Ciri sighed. 

“Take her down to the springs, there’s fresh linens there.” Eskel talked through a mouthful, broth dribbling down his chin. 

“You’re disgusting.” Lambert sneers, taking hold of his chin. 

Eskel growled playfully, his eyes seeming to glow as Lambert licked up his chin. 

“What have I said about your behaviour up my table?” Vesemir threw his spoon at Lambert, smacking Eskel’s shoulder with the back of his hand. 

Geralt rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. Jaskier followed in suit, stifling a giggling at the Witchers.

“Dinner was excellent, thank you.” He grinned at Vesemir, piling their bowls up. Wrapping his arm around Geralt’s waist, he supported his sluggish steps. 

Ciri danced around them, running to Geralt's room and fetching fresh clothes. She caught up with them easily, trailing her fingers over bookcases and cupboards in the hallways. 

There are a few steps that twist down underneath the Keep, opening into a steaming stone room. A deep, tiered pool covered a quarter of the room, haze rising from the surface of the water as it fell.

“The Keep’s built over a hot spring.” Geralt sat by the edge of a wider stone pool. “If you grab that bucket and fill this one up. It’ll cool fast, but Ciri won’t need much. Jaskier hummed.

He poured bucket after bucket of fresh water into the pool, finding a bar of nettle soap by the towels. 

“Hey, Jask?” Geralt started quietly as Ciri splashed into the water with a happy squeal. Jaskier sat beside him, their backs to the pool. He could feel the water splash up against him. “I’m sorry-”

“Later.” Jaskier cut him off with a gentle squeeze to his uninjured thigh. “Not here, okay?” Geralt nodded, leaning into him. They stayed like that, sharing the same space, Jaskier feeling the anxiety and anger of the last month slowly loosen in his stomach. 

“Jaskier?” Ciri dragged his name out. 

“Yes, lovely?” He turned to face her, a smile on his face. She was sunk under soapy water up to her chin. 

“Can you sing me something nice?” Jaskier laughed, taking his lute out of the case. 

“Of course I can!” He hummed as he thought, picking the strings in an upbeat tune. “Oh, here’s an old one, you should know it.”

“ _Why do you build me up, buttercup, baby_

_Just to let me down and mess me around_

_And the worst of all you never call, baby_

_When you say you will but I love you still_

_I need you more than anyone darlin’_

_You know that I have from the start_

_So build me up buttercup_

_Don’t break my heart.”_

Ciri sings along happily, kicking her legs in time. “You know, I picked the name “ _Jaskier”_ because it means Buttercup in my home language. Dandelion, in yours.” 

Ciri gaped at him. 

“You’re named after a flower?” Jaskier nodded definitely.

“Doesn’t a pretty face like mine deserve a name to match?” They giggled, the trill of his lute floating in the haze around them. 

Jaskier turned around, bumping his shoulder into Geralt’s gently. 

“I didn’t know Jaskier wasn’t your real name.” He murmured softly as Ciri dried and dressed herself behind them.

“Of course you did, darling. I told you many times. I just don’t think you listen to me.” Jaskier attempts a mild tone but he can’t stop the spite curl around his tongue. 

“Will you tell me again?” Geralt rested his chin on the bard’s shoulder. 

“If you earn the right.” He pressed a light kiss to Geralt’s forehead before putting his lute away. 

The Witcher nodded, covering Jaskier's hand with his larger one. They walk Ciri back to her room slowly, her feet dragging as she yawned. 

They pass through the common room, Jaskier slipping Geralt onto one of the plush sofas.

“Geralt!” Eskel waved smugly from behind Lambert. The youngest Witcher sat in his lap, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. His arms were twisted behind his back, pinned to Eskel’s chest. 

“No rough housing in indoor communal areas.” Vesemir had a book on his lap, relaxed in his armchair. Lambert rolled his eyes, kicking Eskel’s shin. 

“Do I win?” Eskel bounced his knee. Lambert growled low, kicking him harder. 

“Fuck off.” 

Jaskier brushed Geralt's hair back from his face.

“I’ll settle Ciri down for the night.” Geralt hummed, his eyes falling closed. 

“Grab the comb on your way back?” He gave Jaskier a small smile. The bard chuckled, his fingers catching on a knot. 

“It’s well needed.” 

“Thank you for dinner and the room.” Ciri smiled brightly at Vesemir, bowing her head slightly. 

“Sleep well, cub.” Geralt laid his hand on her damp hair. The others chorus a _goodnight_ as Jaskier takes her hand. 

Her room was warm, a small fire was burning behind an iron grate in the wall opposite her bed. Jaskier hummed as she climbed into bed, pulling the blankets tight around her. 

“Do you think- Can you tell me a story?” Ciri had her face pressed into her pillow, fingers twisting in her blanket. Jaskier chuckled, climbing on beside her. 

“I’m sure I can think of something for you.” His fingers danced on his lute, plucking a soft, simple tune.

“My grandma used to tell me so many good ones, all from her memory.”

“I don’t think this one will be as good, but it’s one my friend told me.” He smiled, closing his eyes. 

Lily had been more of a sister to him, in his lonely childhood. Her dark eyes always held such confidence. He remembers holding her hand, late one night after an argumentative dinner with his father. 

Jaskier felt Ciri’s arm wind around his waist, her head resting in his chest. 

"Once, long, long ago, there were two young wolves. They had each recently left their packs to start a new pack together. Times were good and food was plenty. The weather was warm but not too warm, and the whole world lay ahead of them to explore."

Without really thinking, Jaskier imagined the Witcher's as children, dancing on their light feet, grinning their pointy teeth.

"One night Shewolf and Hewolf were playing in the woods exploring. They came upon a big lake, and on its sides were some tall curved rocks. They were formed in such a manner that when Hewolf let out a playful howl, the sound echoed greatly into the night sky.

Entertained by this find, the two of them played for hours, howling and listening to how far their cries could go. Though it was night, the full moon was so big and bright that they could easily find their footing among the rocks as they searched for the place that would carry their voices the furthest.

But soon they realised that the moon was even bigger than it ought to be. It was drawing closer than it had ever before, perhaps drawn in by the sound of their voices. They call up to her, but hidden among the rocks they are too small for the moon to see them. The lake drew the moon's attention, with water so still and big that the moon's image was reflected brightly upon it. In her curiosity, they watched as the moon drew down to gaze at her reflection.

So near to the earth was she that Shewolf and Hewolf felt they could nearly touch her. They climbed up onto a high rock beside the lake and leapt up to try and reach the moon which was so often far away.

To their amazement, their leaps were just far enough, so close the moon had come. They yipped in glee as they landed side by side on the moon in a cloud of shimmering dust.

It was nothing like anything they had seen before, swirling around them and catching on their fur, making them sparkle like stars. They chased each other and played like they often did, enjoying themselves thoroughly.

But Shewolf noticed that the lake was beginning to look further and further away. She cried out a warning to Hewolf and ran as fast as she could, taking a great leap that took her down from the moon, back onto the rock. Hewolf ran after her, but he was too late. The moon had risen too far into the sky, leaving him stuck on the moon with no way down.”

Ciri made a sad noise, pressing closer to his side. “I know, I know.” Jaskier soothed, picking at his lute.

“Forlorn, Shewolf watched as the moon went on her merry way, unaware of her tiny passenger. Shewolf howled and howled, but the moon did not hear her and travelled past the horizon and leaving her alone.

She stayed there all the next day, waiting for the moon to return on her route. Determined, she stood on the highest rock, howling as the moon passed overhead. But the moon was not coming back, drifting through the sky far, far away.

Still, Shewolf did not give up. She stayed there at the lake, resting by day and howling at night. She howled by herself, even though she knew her single voice was not enough to draw down the moon. She had no other way to call to her.

She kept this up for many nights, until one night another wolf came by, drawn by her voice. He was travelling, looking for a new pack. He asked her what she was doing and she told him, asking if he might stay that night and howl with her. He agreed, and together they howled. Though they weren't certain it seemed that the moon dipped a little lower that night.

Encouraged, and glad of his new friend, the wolf decided to stay with her a few more days to try and help her. On the third day another wolf came, drawn by her curiosity. She was from a far land, but still of their kind. Shewolf explained her tale again, and the German wolf agreed to stay a while and help.

The moon that night dipped even lower, and this encouraged them even more. They decided that in the day they would seek out other wolves and explain the story, asking for help. Then at night they would return to the lake and work together with whomever would come to call to the moon.

For seven days, each wolf ran far and fast, calling to the wolves of the territory and explaining their quest. Some of those wolves in turn joined the hunt and with their help, spread the word far and wide. By the time they returned to the lake, wolves had come from near and far away, each following the trail of other wolves' howls. There were many different wolves, some of different sizes and colours, from many different places, but they were all there to help one another.

There were so many wolves at the lake that they nearly encircled it. When the moon approached, Shewolf began the howl. One by one the others joined her, creating a beautiful chorus that echoed around the basin. So unique and fascinating was this sight and sound, the moon once again drew down to the lake. This time they were so great in number, the moon could see their small forms. Hewolf was ready, having heard their call, and when the moon drew near enough, he jumped back to the earth to rejoin his mate."

Ciri giggled, squeezing his waist.

"There was much rejoicing, and the moon was curious about the gathering. She asked them with a great booming voice why they sang so lovely a song so heartily and in such great number.

Shewolf replied that they sang to draw the moon down, so that they might see her beauty up close and thank her for lighting their way through the nights, which was true, albeit not the whole story.

Pleased, the moon thanked them. She asked them to sing to her again sometimes, and promised to always do her best to light their way. The wolves agreed, promising to howl their thanks to her when they could.

Shewolf thanked each of the wolves as the moon continued on her infinite journey. They each promised to keep an ear open and to come together again if they needed help or friendship. Many of the wolves left after that, going back to their packs in far off places. Some stayed with Shewolf and Hewolf, eager to follow them to new adventures.

Regardless, the tale spread far, and so began the tradition of the wolves howling on the full moon. But even more importantly it became their song to each other. The wolf's promise to help whenever they were in need of aid."

Jaskier let the tune softly fade out before laying his lute beside him. He turned, pulling Ciri in for a proper hug. His shirt began to dampen from her tears. Jaskier shushed her gently, rubbing circles on her back.

“The- the wolves are going to help me.” She whispered. Jaskier hummed, nodding. 

“They are. You’re the White Wolf’s cub. How could they say no?” She sniffled against his chest. 

“Do you think he’d mind if I did want him to be my dad? For real?” Jaskier thought his heart was going to break. The open, honest, softness this child had, after everything she’s been through… Jaskier swallowed the lump in his throat. 

“You should ask him. But I think he’d like that.” She seemed satisfied with his answer. “Goodnight, lovely.” He dropped a kiss to her temple, sliding out from under her arm. 

“Night, Jaskier. Thank you. For everything.” She smiled, borrowing deeper into her blankets. Jaskier chuckled, tucking her in tighter. He closed her door on his way out, ducking into Geralt’s room to grab the wooden comb and some leather bands from his bag.

He froze when he entered the common room. Three sets of amber eyes laid upon him. 

“Your story was sweet, bard.” Vesemir raised his chin, the corner of his mouth curling in an almost smile. Jaskier felt his face flush. Lambert had his head resting on Eskel’s thigh, his body curled up small on the sofa. 

“Where was it from?” 

“Kerack, like much of my heritage.” Jaskier came to sit beside Geralt, his chest warming with the soft smile on the Witcher’s face. He rested his lute against the low table. “Here, turn your head.” He laid his fingers on the sharp cut of jaw, positioning Geralt as well as he could. 

“I didn’t stay there for very long, mind you.” He started to comb through the ends of Geralt’s hair. “I went to Oxenfurt for maybe five years? Beautiful little place, I taught for a good two years.”

“Oxenfurt? Like in Redanian?” Jaskier hummed, smiling at Eskel.

“By the coast.” He murmured. Geralt flinched under his hands, a small, slight shake of his shoulders. “Have you ever been?”

“Gods, it’s been a while since I even thought about that place. Ves and I found ourselves there a few decades ago.” Jaskier laughed, taking the rest of Geralt’s hair out of the tie. He pressed a light kiss to his temple.

“What did you do to end up so close to Novigrad?”

“Swarm of harpies. Horrible buggers.” Vesemir drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. 

“Is ol’ Bracnect still warbling away?”

“Oh, yes. The only way he’s leaving that academy is in a coffin.” Jaskier chuckled. “He’s overseeing the new expansion as they’ve had a far few more students.” 

“Do you still teach?” Lambert asks, voice thick with sleep.

“I go up at least once every two years and liberate Carrin’s class. What is time anyway?”

“Carrin’s still about?” Eskel smiled. “He gave me a wonderful book of plants.”

“Yes, yes! Grown quite fickle in his old age I must admit. The green one with the black spine?” Eskel nodded, pointy teeth glinting in the firelight. “Oh! Wonderful, you’ll have to let me borrow it.”

He twisted his fingers in Geralt’s hair, pulling it back in a thick, tight braid. “There, darling. Now it won’t tangle during the night.” 

“Hmm.” Geralt pressed a kiss to the bard’s knuckles, sitting back more comfortably. 

“Is it a Witcher thing to have such soft hair?” Jaskier wondered aloud, stroking down Geralt's chest. 

“Care to find out?” Eskel’s amber eyes held a cheeky glint. Jaskier waved his comb. 

“Come sit.” He held the Witcher’s gaze with his own challenge. 

Eskel thought for a moment, before easing Lambert’s head off his lap and coming to sit between Jaskier’s feet.

“When will you be going up to Oxenfurt next?” Eskel looked up at him, tipping his head back. 

Jaskier hummed, stroking across his strong jaw, the stubble, the scarred skin, all in one fluid movement.

“I normally try to stop off in the winter but I’m sure they won't miss me all that much.”

“They'd be fools not to miss you.” Eskel caught Geralt’s gaze, enjoying the discomfort that set in his brother’s eyes. 

Jaskier’s nails dug gently against his undercut. He could see in the tense of his shoulders, Eskel held back a relaxed groan. “Would you write a song about another Witcher? Maybe one that's more dashing and kind?”

“If I ever come across one that's more than my dear Wolf, I’ll certainly consider it.” He combed Eskel's hair, twisting it into a looser plait. “All done, dear.” Geralt could see the tension leaking out of Eskel’s frame.

In a den of wolves, he really did find it hard to believe there was not a trace of fear in Jaskier’s skin. Lemongrass clung to the smoky scent of Eskel’s hair. Jaskier stroked down Eskel’s neck.

His brother lent against Jaskier’s leg for a long moment, sucking in a deep breath. Geralt knew he could smell the underlying sadness that weighed down his fresh, light scent. 

“Pass me my lute?” Jaskier scratched down the back of his head again, a little harder. Eskel choked on the sound rising in his throat. He lurched forward, out of the bard's grip, grabbing the lute case. He got to his feet, his cheeks red. “Thank you, dear.” 

Geralt couldn’t fight the smile that pulled on his mouth when Jaskier grinned up at him. Vesemir chuckled from his corner. Eskel ducked his head, returning to his seat beside Lambert.

“Man, you’ve got that look…” Lambert barely lifted his head long enough for Eskel to slide his thigh underneath it. Lambert reached up and pressed his palm to his cheek. “Pretty sure you came.” 

Eskel growled low, thumping his fist down on Lambert chest. 

“Boys.” Vesemir sighed. Eskel looked like he was going to protest, his mouth opening. He held Vesemir’s gaze for a second before looking away. His hand discreetly twisted in Lambert's dark hair and they silently snapped at each other.

“Have you heard of Winter?” Vesemir nodded to the lute on Jaskier’s lap.

“Honestly, dear. What kind of bard do you take me for?”

“You’d be surprised to know how many have forgotten it.” The old wolf’s voice went strangely soft as Jaskier played out the opening chords a few times. 

“ _The first scents of autumn can be smelt,_

_The sense of words is gone in a blink._

_No changes in view – it is what they felt_

_Tears of diamonds on your lashes sink._

_Around your house, now white from frost_

_Sparkles ice on pond and marsh_

_Your longing eyes grieve what is lost…”_

Geralt closed his eyes, letting his head fall back on the sofa for a moment. He looked back at Jaskier, the firelight catching under his jaw, along his nose, in the hollow of his throat, giving him a warm glow.

_“But naught can change this parting harsh_

_Spring will return, on the road the rain will fall_

_Hearts will be warmed by the heat of the sun_

_It must be thus, for fire still smoulders in us all_

_An eternal fire, hope for each one…”_

“Hmm. Much more hopeful than the one I remember.” Vesemir’s eyes were closed, his head resting on his hand. 

“Words change as time does. What is life without a little hope?” Jaskier asked softly. Geralt reached across to him, settling his hand on his knee and squeezing. 

“I remember you singing that. The day we met.” Jaskier hummed, leaning into Geralt’s space. “Feels like a lifetime ago.” He murmured.

The fire crackled, slowly dying. Jaskier plucked a soft tune out, murmuring without forming actual words. 

“Alright, boys. You should rest. We begin Ciri’s training tomorrow.” Vesemir got to his feet, twisting his torso _just so_ , spine cracking. 

“Up we come then, Wolf.” Jaskier held out his hands, grinning. Geralt rolled his eyes, using the sofa to support his weight as he stood, but he took one of Jaskier’s hands anyway. Before the bitter scent of sadness could get any stronger. 

Grabbing his lute in his other hand, Jaskier looks to the other Witchers. Vesemir has his book tucked under his arm.

“Help yourself to whatever from the kitchen. Have a good night.” Jaskier smiled, acknowledged by the nod of Vesemir’s head. 

“Goodnight.” He dragged out, a chuckle bubbling in his chest as Geralt swayed. Eskel’s hands were gentle as he guided Lambert up. He drew Lambert close to his side, holding out his other arm to wrap around Geralt. 

“Ain’t this a fun line.” Eskel drawled. Jaskier grinned as Geralt knocked his head against Eskel’s. He felt so warm, between his brother and his bard. “A concussion won’t do you any good.” Eskel warned him. 

“Thank you, my dears. Sleep well.” Jaskier sighed when they got to Geralt’s door. Eskel released his grip, letting the Witcher sway forward into Jaskier’s space.

“Lights, darling.” The room was dark, Geralt could see Jaskier squint. He flicked his wrist, murmuring _Igni_. Jaskier smiled tiredly. The air still smelt of herbs and sweat. He was grateful that lemongrass seemed to be overpowering it all.

“Let’s check your wounds.” Geralt untied his breeches, loose shirt slipping easily off over his head. Jaskier’s fingers were gentle as he peeled back the bandages, humming quietly. 

“I like your voice.” Geralt whispered like a confession. In many ways, it was. A small smile graced Jaskier’s lips.

“Only took you near twenty years to admit as much. Are you tired?” Geralt shook his head. “Good.” Jaskier sat at the end of the bed, folding his legs underneath him. “So, about earlier?”

“You smelt so sad, Jask. I couldn’t just lay here.” Geralt spoke, not quite meeting his eye. “You still smell sad.” Jaskier sighed, pulling a blanket over his lap. He idly picked at the seam.

“You didn’t look for me.” Geralt felt tears building in his eyes. “You tossed my heart over the side of that mountain and didn’t even search for the body that went with it.”

Geralt squeezed his eyes shut, nodding his head. His stomach ached, he thought he might throw up. 

Jaskier’s voice was steady and even. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering how many times the bard had thought about this conversation. How many times had it changed?

“I’m not mad about you yelling at me. You were hurt and I understand that. But I thought… maybe you didn’t mean what you were saying-”

“I didn’t.” Geralt whispered desperately. The room seemed too small. Jaskier seemed too far away.

“-maybe you didn’t mean it and that you would come and find me. Like you always do.” The Witcher let out a shaky breath, a sob, finally looking up at Jaskier. 

His face was blank, hand stilled on the blanket. Geralt clenched his teeth through a wince and reached for the bard. 

“Please, come here.” Geralt couldn’t stop the crack in his voice. The fear that Jaskier would pull away from him made his chest clench. 

Jaskier crawled forward and arranged himself against Geralt's chest. The Witcher’s hands ran down his back, up his arms, carding through his hair.

“I am _so_ sorry, Jask.” His voice was thick, muffled in Jaskier’s neck. The bard sighed, wrapping his arms across his shoulders. 

“There will _not_ be a next time that you can get away with speaking to your very best and only friend in the world like that. If you even think about trying, I now have made good acquaintances with three equally scary Witcher's with equally sharp swords. So… watch yourself.” He muttered the last part against Geralt’s temple.

Geralt laughed wetly, tightening his grip on the bard's waist. 

“You smell lovely.” Geralt breathed in deep. “What is that?” He sniffed under Jaskier's jaw, licking the skin. Jaskier squirmed. 

He was thrown into a memory, Jaskier’s hands on his wet shoulders, bathing him. Rubbing sweet oils into his skin with small circles. 

“Mm. Basil. Sage? Dill.” Jaskier hummed, threading his fingers through the tangles in Geralt's hair. “Peppermint.” Jaskier nodded, shivering when Geralt kissed the hollow of his neck. 

“Come on now, Wolf. You need to rest.”

“You still smell so sad.” More tears slip down his face, his hands shaking as they creep under Jaskier’s borrowed shirt. He chuckles quietly, pushing Geralt to lay back on the bed, turning so he can lay beside him. 

“Go to sleep, darling. I’ll be here when you wake up.” Geralt keeps his arm tight around Jaskier’s waist, letting his head fall back on the pillow. There was low humming in his ear, lemongrass curling around him.

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------

He woke up to soft fingers dragging down his spine. He was face down in Jaskier’s lap, breathing softly into the bend of his knee. The bard's legs were crossed, thigh pressed into Geralt’s chest. 

“Mhmf.” He wrapped an arm around Jaskier’s back, breathing in sweet lungfuls of content, almost happy, lemongrass. 

“Good morning.” Jaskier whispered low, brushing his fingers over the nape of his neck.

“Jask.” Geralt mumbled, pressing a kiss to the skin he could reach. The bard’s giggle spilled over his lips.

“Here, sit up for me.” His hands are supportive on his shoulders, easing him up. Geralt can feel his skin pull around his scabs.

“Sleep okay?” Jaskier tucked a loose strand of hair behind Geralt’s ear.

“Better that I have in a month.” Geralt smiled warmly. “Hungry?” Geralt could hear the clang of pots in the kitchen. Jaskier swung his legs out of bed, pulling a clean shirt from Geralt’s bag. 

He checked carefully under the bandages, humming as they looked almost healed. The skin was scaly and sore as Jaskier poked at it.

“Thank you, Lark.” Geralt pressed a kiss to his temple as he pulled the shirt over his stomach. Jaskier helped him into his boots, lacing them tight around his shins. 

“Of course, my darling.” Jaskier found his perfumes bag and pulled out a familiar vial. He dripped it down each side of Geralt’s neck, and into the hollow of his throat. Geralt let his eyes close. He tipped his chin up, Jaskier’s fingers smoothing over his neck.

He felt heat pool low in his stomach, his hands loosely on Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier hummed, letting his hands trail down his chest, pressing splayed hands on his stomach. 

“Breakfast?” Geralt groaned. 

“Allow me to kiss you first?” 

Jaskier looked up at him, his forget-me-not blue eyes bright. 

“I’ve been waiting 20 damn years for a kiss, you know.” Jaskier muses, “Better make it worth the wait.” Geralt snorted, ducking his head and closing the gap between them. 

Jaskier made a high noise in the back of his throat as Geralt kissed him. His hands tightened on his waist, pulling him closer. Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s neck, his back arching. 

“Fuck, Geralt.” He breathed. The Witcher groaned against his mouth, nipping at his lower lip.

“Jask-” Jaskier’s stomach rumbled loudly. He giggled, kissing Geralt chastely. 

Geralt hindered more than helped Jaskier pull on fresh clothes. His fingers undo buttons faster than Jaskier can do them up. 

“Oi, fuck off.” He laughed, Geralt crowding up against him as he tried to open the door. 

“You smell so good.” Geralt whined into his shoulder. His hands were hard on his hips, pulling his ass against Geralt. 

“I’m also hungry, so get me breakfast before I smack you.” Geralt growled playfully in his ear, nipping his neck. 

They manage the stairs with ease, Geralt moving much more freely than he was the day before. Jaskier still holds his arm. 

The Witcher focused on breathing, least his heart bursts in his chest. 

_Jaskier forgave him. Jaskier wants to be his friend- wants him._ The thought made his knees feel weak. 

At the dining room table, Eskel and Ciri are sitting opposite each other, elbows on the table. Ciri is knelt on her chair, her blonde curls framing her wild grin. Their hands are clasped, Lambert rubbing her shoulders. 

“Ready, Set… Go!” Lambert released her. She clenched her jaw, pushing hard against Eskel. 

“Morning, lovely.” Jaskier dropped a kiss to her head as he walked past. He patted Lambert’s back, pressing a light kiss to his cheek as well. Geralt thinks it might be just to watch the youngest Witcher squirm, his face reddening. 

Ciri grunted in frustration, Eskel’s arm not giving an inch. He smirked, pursing his lips at Jaskier, blowing him a kiss. 

“Do you yield, cub?” Ciri growled, before relinquishing her efforts. Eskel tapped the back of her hand to the table. He raised both arms, crowing, “Reigning arm wrestle champion!”

“That’s because I haven’t been here in a year.” Geralt rested his hand on Ciri’s head. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Really good. You? Everything okay?” Geralt smoothed down her curls, smiling. 

“Yeah, cub. We’ll see if Jask can do something with your hair before we start training.”

“Breakfast first. Little warriors need their strength.” Vesemir turned, blinking when Jaskier didn’t move from behind him. 

“Here,” He took the pot of tea from Vesemir. “I can help.” Jaskier smiled up at the man, squeezing his arm. 

Vesemir blinked again, watching the bard pour out tea into awaiting cups. He prodded at Eskel’s neck, no mind for how the Witcher snarled.

“Gods, Esk. Must have been a big bug to come through your window and leave a mark like that.” Jaskier sounded astounded. Geralt could see the glimmer in his blue eyes and the curl of his lip. 

“You’re just jealous, bard.” Eskel sneered, holding his mug up. Jaskier tipped the pot, filling the cup up with a smile.

“Jaskier.” Geralt rumbled before he could open his mouth. Groaning, Jaskier placed the pot on the table, coming to sit next to Ciri. 

“Mornin’.” Vesemir sat down, Lambert sliding into the seat beside Eskel. They passed bowls around the table, rolls, apples, cold meats and jams. Ciri held up one of the rolls, shaking Jaskier’s shoulder.

“Remember?” He laughed, reaching for a jar of honey. He smeared the bread for her, laying it back on her plate. 

“We were in Cintra, obviously.” The Witcher's looked at him curiously.

“Obviously.” Ciri echoed with a mouthful of bread. 

“And I was wandering the streets, waiting for inspiration for my next ballad to strike me. This was one early spring, maybe 5 years ago now?” He took a bite of his apple. “When, in all fairness, it did strike me.” Ciri giggled beside him. 

“Anyway, I got barrelled into by a small child, running from Cintran guards. She hid in my cloak as they ran past. Absolutely _covered_ in flour, mind you.” Geralt smiled, the bard's hands moving animatedly. Ciri pulled on his sleeve. 

“No, stop!” She dragged out the sentence. Jaskier laughed, rubbing a hand down her back.

“She had stolen some sweet rolls from the bakers, making him jump so high he had dropped the flour everywhere.” 

“We ate them by the stream. He didn’t even tell me off.” Ciri mumbled, drinking her tea. 

Jaskier smacked Geralt’s arm, with a grin.

“Remember that time that drowner snuck up on us? And almost drowned me?”

“I remember saying; “Jaskier get out of the water” and you directly ignored me in favour of leaning closer to the surface.”

“Psh, what was the worst that would happen?” Geralt's stare made him squirm in his seat. “I didn’t die though did I? No, you rescued me very bravely.” He stroked Geralt’s arm soothingly. 

Geralt sighed, shovelling more bread in his mouth. They finished eating, Lambert collecting their plates. 

“I’ll meet you guys in the training grounds in a little.” He filled up a pot, flicking his wrist to heat it. 

“Yeah, won’t be long.” Eskel collects their cups, dumping them into the bowl. Vesemir rolled his eyes.

“You have ten minutes.” 

“Mmm, I like a challenge.” Eskel growled, his arm wrapping around Lambert. Geralt groaned, the smokey scent clung and contrasted Lambert’s clean white sage. 

“If the dishes aren’t done, you will both bear the consequences.” Vesemir led them through the Keep, out into a 30ft field. 

It was surrounded by high stone walls, a small shed by the Keep. There were training dummies, battered and chipped lined up against one one the walls. A row of benches were along another wall, half of them covered by a small shelter.

“Okay, Lambert is going to spar with you.” Vesemir waved his hand. “Get two wooden swords. Jaskier, get two as well.” 

“What?” The bard sounded alarmed. 

“If you think you're going to wait out the snow here whilst learning nothing, you have made a mistake. Eskel will spar with you.” 

“Ves, I don’t think-” The elder held up a hand, cutting Geralt off. 

“You are going to sit over there and leave me to my class.” Geralt’s eyes were stormy. Jaskier squeezed his arm, smiling softly. 

He followed Ciri to the little shed, pulling out four battered wooden swords. The two Witcher's stumble out into the yard, bumping into each other with stifled chuckles. Lambert’s cheeks were flushed red.

Vesemir took a tall staff from where it was propped up under the small shelter. He raised it, pointing it at Eskel.

“I expect all four of you to listen and do as you are instructed.” 

Jaskier hands him one of the swords, smiling. Geralt couldn’t help the frown that formed on his face as he took a seat on one of the benches.

“I’m not particularly skilled.” Jaskier grinned, waving the sword rather flippantly. Geralt groaned, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Keep the grip, raise your blade.” Vesemir brought the end of the staff under his wrist, bringing his arm up. “Feel the weight in your shoulder. Good, Ciri.” 

“Don’t hold it so tight. It will be harder to swing and you’ll get tired quicker.” Lambert helped Ciri adjust her grip on the hilt. 

“Widen your stance, shoulder width apart.” Vesemir tapped the staff on the inside of Jaskier’s knee. “Leading foot forward.”

Eskel brought his sword up, setting his feet and bending his knees. 

“You wanna be able to bounce a little, gives you a lower centre gravity.” Jaskier nodded.

“Move your elbow or shoulder, don’t try and control the whole length of the sword.”

“Geralt tried to show me once.” Jaskier sighed. “I just don’t think sword fighting is the path for me.”

“Pull your blows, boys. Children, stay on your feet and don’t get hit.” Vesemir circled around Ciri, helping her adjust her sword angle as Lambert cut down with his own. 

“Watch your footwork or-” Eskel ducks under Jaskier’s swing and catches his ankle with his foot, bringing him to the floor. Geralt growled as he hit the ground.

“Relax, Geralt. He’s fine. Come on, again.” Eskel extended a hand,hauling the bard to his feet. “Okay, you’re gona keep going until you can block at least three hits.” 

“Ugh, I don’t think I will.” Jaskier groaned. He raised his arm with a reluctant smile. “Okay.” 

Ciri giggled as her and Lambert sparred. The loud clack of wood echoed and she grunted as Lambert struck a little harder, a little faster. 

“Do you yield?” He murmured. Sweat dripped from her brow as she struggled to parry. 

“Not yet.” She strained, lunging forward.

“Footwork.” Vesemir chimed in every few minutes, but lent on his staff. He watched contently, Lambert murmuring adjustments when needed. 

“Why do I need to learn how to use a sword if I have a pack of wolves to defend me?” Jaskier whined. He blocked, barely, with a loud grunt. “What if my arm falls off?” 

“Lambert is very good with potions and medicine.” Eskel grinned. 

Ciri lowered her sword, nodding.

“I yield.” She wiped her forehead, looking up at Vesemir. 

“Well done, cub. Get a drink.” Vesemir nodded, taking her inside. She skipped beside him, waving at Geralt. 

“Hey. My turn now.” Lambert took the wooden sword off Jaskier, leaning them next to Geralt.

“Ah, okay. Thanks.” Jaskier smiled at Eskel. He sat heavily beside Geralt, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. “I wasn’t very good at that.” Jaskier sighed, leaving against Geralt. 

The Witcher wrapped his arm around his waist.

“You did so well. At least you can say you sparred with the Dragon of Kaer Morhen and didn’t receive a scratch.” He chucked into Jaskier’s temple.

“Oof! You prick.” Eskel crashed to the floor, making Jaskier jump. Geralt sighed, rolling his eyes. 

“Do they do this a lot?” Jaskier whispered. 

Lambert grunted, kicking out at Eskel. They thrash on the ground, slipping out of holds, landing and blocking punches.

“Yeah. They’ve always fought like that. It used to be sexual frustration. But now… I think they just like beating each other up.” Geralt shrugged. 

“When I can move more freely, I’ll teach you some of that.” Geralt gestured to where Lambert rolled out from under Eskel, grabbing his arm and twisting into a hold. Eskel locked their legs, bringing Lambert back under him, the fall making the grip of his arm loose. 

“I don’t trust Eskel’s ability to pull his weight if he were to spar with you.” Geralt tangled their fingers together, kissing Jaskier’s knuckles. “And I also refuse for you to be under or on top of him.”

“My darling Wolf, are you jealous?” Jaskier ducked his head to catch Geralt’s eye. Geralt could feel his ears redden. 

“No, I just- you get on well with him and a lot of people like my brother more than me.” He couldn’t hold Jaskier’s gaze for very long. 

“Silly Wolf. You wana teach me some stuff now?” Jaskier watched as Eskel knelt over Lambert, pinning his arms down. Geralt sighed. 

“Come on, then. Get down.” Geralt stood, pointing to the floor. “Or, do I need to put you down.” Raising an eyebrow, he could smell Jaskier’s interest peak. Jaskier got to his feet slowly, dragging his eyes over Geralt's arms. 

“Oh, for Gods-” Geralt grabbed hold of Jaskier’s forearms, kicking his feet out from under him. Jaskier screeched as Geralt dropped him on the ground. He stayed lent over him, enjoying the startled look in his blue eyes.

“Well, this isn't nearly as sexy as I thought it would be.” Jaskier bitched from under Geralt. Lambert met his eyes across the grass. 

“Exactly what my thoughts are.” He seemed to realise what he said and his cheeks flushed. Eskel took his wrists in one arm, letting the other fist in Lambert's hair. 

Geralt scrunched his nose as the sandalwood rolled off Eskel in sharp waves.

“Oh, sorry, my sweet.” He pulled Lambert's head back, arching him off the floor, making him groan. “I didn't realise you wanted to play like that while my brother was here.” Jaskier thinks he could hear weak protests but Lambert was flipped onto his front, an arm around his throat and Eskel's body pressed flush against his. 

Geralt looked vaguely annoyed, breathing out heavily from his nose but pulled Jaskier to a sit.

“You need to know how to get out of something similar to that.” He nodded at the two entangled Witchers. 

“Maybe I wanna get in that.” Jaskier quirked his eyebrow, smoothing his hands up Geralt's forearms.

Geralt shoved Jaskier down, straddling his waist and supporting his weight onto one hand just above Jaskier’s shoulder. He growled low. The bard groaned, eyes rolling back in his head. 

“I take it back.” He ran his fingers down Geralt’s chest.

“You want to get out of this before I can get your arms, okay? Where is my weight?” Jaskier wriggled a little under him, finding no movement. 

“Uhm. On your knees?” 

“Yes, it really is that simple.” Jaskier nodded. “Tuck your feet up as much as you can.”

Jaskier bent his knees, his heels almost against his ass. 

“Okay, good. Now hold my hips down, you want me on your stomach, not on your chest. Wriggle back if you can.” 

Jaskier shuffled back until his thighs were flush against Geralt's back. He could feel blood rush to his face as his palms rested on Geralt’s hipbones.

“If you're too slow, I’ll be able to get you in a high straddle. And I’m sure that’s how you’d prefer me, but for the sake of you getting out of fights, you’re going to hold here.” 

He took Jaskier’s hand and pressed it to the crease of his thigh.

“Geralt, you’re going to kill me.” Jaskier strained under him. 

“Use their clothing if you have to, but don’t make a habit of it.” Jaskier locked his arms, pushing against the Witcher as he tried to shuffle his knees higher. “Good. Now, since I can’t move, what am I gona do?”

“Hit me?” Jaskier couldn’t stop staring at the open neck of his shirt. Geralt sat back on Jaskier’s hips, tensing his shoulders. The bard choked on a groan.

“Since you asked.” Geralt grinned. He held Jaskier down with his weight on his stomach, raising his arms. “Bring your arms up, keep your elbows there.” 

Jaskier brings his forearms over his face, elbows pointing at Geralt's chest. 

“Good, now every time you block a hit, I want you to buck up.” Geralt brings his fist down, touching it to Jaskier's forearm. As he makes contact, Jaskier thrusts up hard. Geralt’s pushed forward, putting his hands out to push himself back to sitting on Jaskier.

“Good, now my hands are here, and I can’t hit you again. Get me sat back.”

Jaskier's hands are quick on his hips, helping him back down. 

“No, harder. Be more forceful, just because it’s me doesn’t mean you can be soft. I need to know you can do this.” Geralt drops a kiss to Jaskier’s forehead before swinging slowly down on him. 

Startled a little, Jaskier was slow bringing his arms up. He didn’t block the punch but bucked up underneath Geralt anyway. 

“Good.” Geralt grinned. He could feel Jaskier was hard beneath him. He planted his knees a little more firmly, grinding down just so. Jaskier groaned, squeezing at his hips. 

“You’re a cruel man.” Jaskier’s face was red. Geralt couldn’t help but rub the palm of his hand against Jaskier’s cheek.

“Yes. Now, to get out of this position, what you’re going to do is put your hands on the back of my arm, and pull.” 

Jaskier lays his hands on top of each other on Geralt's tricep, trying to push. “Come on, you want my arm to bend.” 

Jaskier moved his free hand to hold Geralt's forearm, the length of it now pressed against his chest. Jaskier shoved his hands, buckling the Witcher's arm. 

“Good, now as I come down, push your hips up and try to turn me to the left.” Jaskier bucked up, barely moving Geralt an inch. “Again.” He straightened his arm. 

Jaskier attempted it several times until he figured out he needed to wait for Geralt to lift up in the buck to then tip him. The bard grinned when he ended up knelt between Geralt's open legs. 

Sweat dripped down his neck, mouth opened as he breathed heavily. Geralt’s voice dipped low and rough. 

“Now, you would kick away, crawling back on your hands fast.” 

“Uhuh.” Jaskier lent down, his hands moving over Geralt’s thighs. Geralt watched him, blue eyes wide and bright. He bit back a groan as beautifully sweet lemongrass covered his skin.

“Wait until you’re a reasonable distance away before standing.” He could feel Jaskier’s breath on his neck, tipping his head slowly. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Jaskier licked across Geralt’s collarbone, nipping gently. The Witcher threaded one of his hands through Jaskier’s hair, tugging him up to meet his mouth.

His knees squeezed against Jaskier’s sides, groaning as he licked into Jaskier’s mouth. He tasted faintly of jam, the salt from his own skin and something so drunkenly sweet it could only be _Jaskier_. 

“Fuck, Jask. I missed you so much.” Jaskier whined into the Witcher’s mouth, gripping him through his breeches. 

“Geralt- missed you too.” He gasped. His hand found its way into the soft white strands, biting sharply at his bottom lip.

“ ‘Ever let me fuck you?” Jaskier ground his hips against Geralt’s ass, tugging his head back. “You looked so hot on top like that.” 

“Jask-” 

“Shh, just think about it.” Jaskier pulled on his hair again, biting down his throat. 

“Wait, Jask.” Geralt sat up, running his hands down Jaskier’s back. Jaskier shuffled back on his knees, putting space between them.

“Oh, Gods- I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.” Geralt chuckled, reaching for him. 

“No, I was just going to suggest maybe we should go upstairs.” He looked to the side. Eskel and Lambert laid on their fronts, heads resting on one of their arms. They waved, teeth glinting in their matching smirks. 

“You both suck.” Jaskier chastised them, getting to his feet. His dick strained in his trousers and Geralt couldn’t help pressing his face to the crease of his thigh. “Geralt!” 

“Ow, mean.” Geralt grumbled when Jaskier smacked the side of his head. 

Jaskier rolled his eyes, tugging Geralt up with a hand in his hair. 

“Come on, please?” Geralt could smell the want coming off the bard. It made him feel dizzy. He kissed him hard, feeling Jaskier’s knees buckle. 

They stumbled through the halls, Geralt shoving Jaskier against a wall every few paces. His hands pushed underneath his borrowed shirt, unbuttoning his trousers. 

“Why do you insist on wearing my clothes? Walking round, smelling like you belong to a Witcher. You’ve always had no problem with it.” Jaskier slipped two of his fingers between Geralt’s lips, pressing down on his tongue.

“Maybe I liked the way you stare at me. Hmm?” He curled his fingers, stroking along Geralt’s tongue, pushing further into his mouth. Geralt choked back a moan, sucking weakly.

“C’mon, darling. Almost there.” He pulled his fingers away with a wet sound, wiping them down Geralt’s chin. 

“Jask.” He grinned, Geralt’s eyes blown wide.

“Yes?” He pushed Geralt into walking by his shoulders. 

“Are you staring at my ass?” Geralt swayed as he walked, laughing at Jaskier’s choked moan. 

“Oh, the things I never thought I’d see you do.” Geralt closed the door behind them, pulling his shirt over his head. 

Jaskier found a bottle of oil in his pack. He shucked his own shirt off, watching Geralt’s shoulders roll as he unlaced his boots. Humming softly, he ran his hands down over Geralt’s leather-clad ass. 

“If you wouldn’t mind, darling, take these off and kneel on the bed.” He helped undo the breeches, smacking Geralt’s thigh gently. 

Geralt kissed him hard before climbing onto the bed. 

“Wider, sweetheart.” Jaskier settled between his spread knees. He marvelled at the hard muscles in his thighs, fingernails dragging slightly. “There you go. Gods, Geralt, you’re gorgeous.” 

Geralt shuddered under his hands, dropping to his elbows. His head touched the mattress, back arching slightly. His medallion fell around his neck, hitting his chin gently. Jaskier dropped a kiss to his tailbone, pulling off his own trousers. His thumbs dipped between Geralt’s cheeks as he squeezed his ass.

“Are you going to fuck me, or just stare?” Geralt groaned, pushing his ass back into Jaskier’s hands. He hummed, pulling his cheeks apart. 

“Honestly, I’m just enjoying the view.” Jaskier pressed his thumbs close to his hole, watching Geralt clench and relax. Uncapping the oil, he dripped some over his fingers, and down the cleft of Geralt’s ass.

The Witcher hissed at the cold oil, Jaskier rubbing the pads of his fingers over his hole. 

“Have you ever done this before?” He eased a finger in, biting his lip at the tight heat. Geralt shook his head.

“Not really, not in a long time.” 

Alright, darling.” He pumped his finger slowly, wrapping his other hand around Geralt’s dick. He growled low, the noise making Jaskier’s cock throb. His calloused fingers stroked up the heavy length, thumbing the wet head gently.

Jaskier pushed another finger in, awestruck as Geralt took him to the knuckle. He pressed against his prostate. Geralt pushed back onto his fingers. “You want another?” 

“Harder.” Geralt bit out through gritted teeth. Jaskier sucked a kiss into the meat of his ass, nipping hard as he added a third. He fucked Geralt with his fingers, spreading them a little. 

“Jask, fuck me.” 

“Not yet.” Jaskier squeezed the base of Geralt’s dick. “I wish you could see how well you’ve opened up for me.” He could see a sheen of sweat along Geralt’s skin. “I bet you could take another one, couldn’t you? Should I find out?” 

He stroked Geralt’s stretched rim with his pinky finger, listening to him keen. 

He ran his tongue over a thick scar just under the curve of Geralt’s ass.

“Jask, please.” 

Jaskier slowed his fingers, driving them deeper into him. 

“Say that again.”

Geralt turned to look at him. His lips were bitten red, only a thin ring of gold visible in his eyes.

“Jaskier…” He clenched his jaw. “If you don’t get your dick in me in the next five seconds I’ll-” Jaskier jabbed at his prostate, curling his fingers. Geralt broke off in a choked moan. 

“You’ll what, love?” Jaskier asked, pumping his cock.

The Witcher growled, jerking out of Jaskier’s hands. He tugged him by the wrists onto his back, spreading oil onto one of his hands.

“I’ll fuck you myself.” He wrapped his hand around Jaskier’s cock, smearing the length in the sweet smelling oil. He bit gently on one of Jaskier’s nipples, lapping his tongue across the pebbled nub. 

Geralt set his knees either side of Jaskier’s hips. He licked up to Jaskier’s mouth, forcing his lips apart. Jaskier moaned, high and sweet, Geralt’s tongue fucking into his mouth  
  


Lining him up, Geralt sank down onto Jaskier’s cock. He took every inch slowly, pressing kiss after kiss to Jaskier’s lips. 

He held Jaskier down with a heavy hand on his clavicle as he began to rock his hips. Geralt didn’t let more than two inches leave him before he lowered down again. 

“Oh, Gods. Geralt, you- I can’t-” 

“Yeah.” He cut him off with another kiss, feeling the full length of Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier pushed Geralt’s hand higher on his throat. 

“I don’t feel much fucking going on.” Jaskier threaded one hand into Geralt’s hair, letting the other feel where Geralt was stretched over his cock. Geralt nodded against his throat, his breath coming in fast puffs.

“I just need a minute.” Geralt dropped his head to Jaskier’s shoulder, squeezing his hand gently around Jaskier’s throat. 

“Take all you need, darling.” Jaskier smoothed his hand up Geralt’s back, scraping his nails gently. Geralt moaned, hips jerking up. “Shh, love, you feel so good. Sat there, so pretty on my dick.” Jaskier dug his nails in harder, gasping when Geralt tightened his hand. 

He started slowly moving, planting his free hand on the bed next to Jaskier’s head. He fitted his mouth over the meat of Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“Geralt, darling, you’re just so-” Jaskier moaned, licking the shell of his ear. He nodded as best he could, biting down harder. 

He tugged hard at Geralt’s hair, gripping his hip tightly. He gasped for breath, bucking his hips to meet Geralt’s thrusts. 

“Gods, look at you.” Jaskier dragged his nails over his abdomen, rubbing the cold silver of his necklace, catching his nipple. Geralt growled, sucking the skin between his teeth, making Jaskier wince. “Cheeky fucker, think you can stop me by biting?” 

He tugged Geralt’s nipple, twisting it sharply. “Stop holding back. Let me hear you, love.” 

Geralt moved his hips faster, feeling Jaskier swallow against his hand. 

“Jask.” He gasped into his bruised shoulder, moving to kiss him. Open-mouthed and languid, Jaskier pulled him tightly to his chest by his hair. 

“Feel good? Bouncing on my cock like this, all hot and aching.” He wrapped his hand around Geralt’s neglected dick loosely, feeling it bob against his stomach. “You want to cum yet? Or can you wait a little longer for me?”

“Jask, I can- I can wait.” Geralt barely recognised his voice, gravelly and strained. Jaskier shushed him, kissing his jaw sweetly. 

“Thank you, darling. Not much longer, you’re doing so well.” 

His thighs burned. Jaskier’s hand left goosebumps across his skin, skating down his chest, barely letting his calloused fingers stroke his dick, before they travelled to his hip. 

“Jask.” Geralt let him pull his head back, exposing his throat to blunt teeth. “Jask, please touch me.” 

“Oh, my lovely Witcher begging to be touched by his humble bard.” Jaskier gripped him hard. “Ask me again, won’t you?” 

“Jask.” Jaskier’s scent became much sharper. “Touch me, please touch me. Make me cum, humble bard.” He couldn’t keep himself from smirking. 

“Darling, is that really the way to talk to me?” Jaskier tightened his hand at the base of his cock, fisting his hand harder in his hair. “You can move faster than that, can’t you?” 

Geralt groaned, canting his hips faster. 

“Jask- no, please.” Jaskier kissed him slowly.

“Such a sassy little Witcher.” Geralt could feel the blush spread over his face. “For that comment, you are going to ride me until you cum or your legs give out.” Jaskier let go of his cock, biting sharply at his jaw. 

“Gods, Jask. It’s not enough- I can’t like this.” There was sweat beading down his chest. 

“I don’t care, love.” 

Geralt whined, his thighs shaking as he rocked against the bard. His mouth fell open, mouthing at Jaskier’s skin. 

He gasped out a moan, dragging his nails down Geralt’s back, digging in. Jaskier’s fingers ran along the large claw marks on his skin, fingering a bite on his ribs, caressing a burn on his lower back. 

“Jas, please. Fuck, please.” Geralt’s face was flushed red, the blush spreading down his chest. Jaskier swallowed hard. His scent warmed, the fresh lemongrass and aching want making Geralt’s eyes glaze over as he rolled his hips.

“Look at me.” Jaskier cupped his jaw, pulling on his hair. He tugged a sharp groan from Geralt’s lips, his eyes opening. When did they close?

Jaskier moaned against his mouth, eyes open, staring into his. “You’re beautiful.”

The hand fell from his jaw, wrapping around his hard length. Geralt choked on a groan.

“Can I- Jask, let me cum.” Jaskier jerked him in a tight grip, sucking a bite on his jaw.

“Ask me nicely, darling.” Jaskier’s voice stayed steady but Geralt could hear how fast his heartbeat was. He licked over Jaskier’s pulse point, nipping at the skin.

“Jas, Jask, please. Please let me cum.” Jaskier let out a breathless chuckle. 

“Yes, love.”

Geralt whined into his throat, pressing desperate kisses across the skin. He breathed in deep. Cum spurted over the bard’s chest, Geralt’s legs shaking as he sank deep on his cock. Jaskier’s hand was slick, pumping him through his orgasm. 

He groaned low, grinding slowly. Jaskier gathered some of his cum on his fingers, pulling Geralt’s head back by his hair.

“Can you keep moving?” Jaskier’s voice was soft but strained. Geralt nodded, shakily raising himself up. 

He slowly rocked his hips, breathless. “Good, you feel so good.” Jaskier mumbled praises, slipping his cum-slick fingers between Geralt’s parted lips. 

Geralt sucked, curling his tongue around them. He shuddered at his own salty taste but revelled when Jaskier twisted his fist in his hair. 

“Bite me.” Jaskier pulled his fingers free, pressing Geralt’s face to his shoulder. He opened his mouth over the existing bite, lining his teeth up into the indents already in his skin. 

Jaskier moaned high in his ear, shuddering as he came deep inside Geralt. 

His hands guided Geralt down to his chest, running over his back and rubbing circles on his thighs. 

“Okay, darling?” Geralt nodded slowly, licking over the dark bruise on Jaskier’s shoulder. 

“Did I hurt you?” His voice was uncharacteristically small, stroking his hair back from his face. Jaskier caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. 

“No, you were perfect.” He can hear the truth in Jaskier’s soft words. “Lift up, baby, we need a cloth or you’re gona get sticky.” Geralt raised his hips with a quiet grunt, his legs protesting. 

“Bath later. I smell like you.” He nosed along Jaskier’s neck, wrapping his arms around the bard. 

“We can’t nap, Geralt. We need lunch at some point.” Jaskier chuckled lightly, turning them on their sides. He ran his nails gently up the Witcher’s spine. 

“Do you remember…” Geralt’s voice cracked as he whispered. “When that drowner almost got you, and I had that nightmare?” Jaskier hummed. “That song you sang?”

“ _Happily, I’m unfazed here, too…_ ” Jaskier kept his voice gentle and soft, pulling the blanket over their legs. Geralt shook against him. “That one?” 

“Yeah… Could you maybe- Do you mind singing to me?” Jaskier hummed against the top of his head. 

“ _The day that we’ll watch the death of the sun_

_To the cloud and the cold and that smile you’ve got_

_And you’ll gaze unafraid as they sob from the city roofs_

_Wasteland, baby_

_I’m in love, I’m in love with you…”_

“I love you too.” The confession surprised both of them, Geralt’s cheeks dusted pink. Jaskier giggled, pressing a kiss against his lips. “I- Jask. I love you.” 

Geralt propped himself up on his elbow, taking Jaskier’s face in his hand. He smiled, so soft and true. 

“It took you long enough to realise.” Jaskier chuckled wetly. 

_Wasteland, baby_

_I’m in love, I’m in love with you_

_(That’s it)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, let me know if i messed up or if you enjoyed it :))
> 
> Songs  
> You think you're safe- Jaskier (TV)  
> Toss a coin to your Witcher- Jaskier (TV)  
> Winter- Dandelion (books)  
> Fishmonger's Daughter- Jaskier (TV)  
> The wolf song- Me  
> the selkimore song- Me  
> Her sweet kiss- Jaskier (TV)  
> Wasteland, baby- Hozier  
> In the woods somewhere- Hozier  
> build me up buttercup- The Foundations


End file.
